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sinning the Mother’s Burden 


Page 38 



SUNSHINE MARY. 



3 


S 



PHILADELPHIA 

PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION, 
No. i;i84 Chestnut Street. 






COPYRIGHT, 1884, BY 

THE TRUSTEES OF THE 

PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION. 


ALL MIGHTS RESERVED. 


Westcott & Thomson, 
Stereotypers and ElecUviypers, Philada. 


PREFACE. 


So many Christians, young as well as old, 
lack the ‘‘joy of the Lord ” in their hearts, 
and so in their faces, that this tale of a 
sunshiny ’’ young Christian girl will not 
be without a mission. It may serve to call 
attention to that lack of a simple faith in 
Christ which so sadly mars the happiness 
of many true disciples, and to stimulate the 
desire for such a restful faith whilst point- 
ing the way by an attractive example. 

J. W. D. 



C O N TENTS. 


CHAPTER J. 

PAOK 

Mary, Elsie and Rait 9 

CHAPTER TI. 

Sunshine and Shadow 2G 

CHAPTER III. • 

Confessing Christ 43 

CHAPTER IV. 

Deliver us from Evil Cl 

CHAPTER V. 

Sunshine and Cloud 80 

b 


6 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER YI. 

PAGE 

The Clouds Deepen 100 

CHAPTER VII. 

Apprehension and Relief 120 

CHAPTER YITI. 

Hours of Refreshing 14G 

CHAPTER IX. 

Light in the Darknes.s 1C3 

. CHAPTER X. 

Self-Consecration 188 

CHAPTER XI. 

Out from “The Ne.st” 200 

CHAPTER Xn. 


Temptations in Prosperity, 


226 


CONTENTS, 


i 

CHAPTER Xlir. 

PAGE 

In the Great City 250 

CHAPTER XIV. 

D 

Clouds and Light 269 

CHAPTER XV. 

At Home Again 293 




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« 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


CHAPTER I. 

MARY, ELSIE AND RAY. 

“ I will trip lightly over the grass : 

Dear little dandelions, let me pass.” 

I T was the merry voice of a young girl 
that warbled out the rhyme as she 
bounded up the garden-walk, stopping to 
gather some of the golden blossoms — the 
first of the season. 

“ Oh, Elsie,’’ she exclaimed, entering the 
cozy dining-room, ‘‘only see how beautiful 
these are !” 

A dark-haired little maiden sitting by the 
window looked up from her book : 

“ Nothing but common yellow dandelions ! 
I don’t see anything very wonderful about 
themr 

“Why, Elsie, just see how many little 

9 


10 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


flowers there are in one, and all so exquisite, 
so perfect. Out in the grass, with the dew 
on them, they look like golden stars.” 

‘‘Perhaps they do; but I don’t admire 
dandelions : they don’t smell sweet. Mary, 
I do declare, as you stand there in the sun- 
shine, they are almost the color of your hair. 
That must be the reason you like them so 
well,” laughed Elsie, contemptuously. 

Mary colored a little, but made no reply ; 
she was accustomed to her younger sister’s 
sharp sallies. Tucking the flowers in her 
belt and giving them a loving little pat, 
she went on with her morning work, dusting 
and arranging the room with a deft hand ; 
but every few moments she would burst out 
into snatches of rhyme or song, for the very 
spirit of the glad May morning had entered 
her heart. 

At length all was done ; and Mary, taking 
some crumbs in her hand, went to the door 
to feed the bluebirds and the robins, which 
were soon picking up the food, telling her 
their funny little stories in a very confiden- 
tial way. Between Mary and the birds 
there was always a tacit understanding. 


MARY, ELSTE AND RAY. 


11 


How deep and blue was the sky ! Mary 
stood gazing into its depths, lost in delight 
at the beauty of that spring morning. And 
what a bright, happy face was hers ! No 
wonder the kind father, now in heaven, had 
called her his Sunshine,^’ and that his pet- 
name had clung to her through childhood, 
until she was known among relatives and 
friends as “ Sunshine Mary.’^ 

Throw open the shutters of a darkened 
room, let in a flood of sunlight, and see how 
the gloomy room is transformed in a moment. 
Some faces have a like cheering effect : 
they carry joy and brightness with them 
wherever they appear. Blessings on such 
faces, and on the happy spirits that look out 
through these windows ! Earthly lives are so 
linked together that if one life shines, the 
next life to it must catch the light.’’ 

« Why, my dear girls, you will surely be 
late for school,” were Mrs. Sanborn’s words 
as she came into the dining-room. 

am all ready,” said Miss Elsie, starting 
to her feet and laying down her book in a 
very decided way. “ But Mary has one of 
her looney-fits this morning ; she’s been 


12 


SUNSHTNE 3[ARY. 


singing, sliouting and making up all kinds 
of nonsensical verses. I do believe she is a 
little cracked.’' 

Mary laughed gayly. In a moment her 
merry voice floated down from the chamber 
above, where she was preparing herself for 
school. 

Elsie, you ought not to speak of your 
sister in that way,” said Mrs. Sanborn, 
seriously. 

‘‘Now, mamma, you know she’s for ever 
behind time.” 

“ Sometimes she is, but it is generally be- 
cause she stays to do the very last thing she 
can to help me.” 

“ Of course Mary’s always right ; she’s 
the spoiled beauty of the family.” 

“ No, she is not a beauty ; neither is she 
spoiled. I wish you had more of her sweet, 
happy spirit.” 

“ Well, mamma, I’ve got to be myself. 
You can’t make a rose out of a thistle, can 
you? I never heard that you could.” 

Mrs. Sanborn smiled : 

“You need not call yourself hard names, 
my dear child.” 


MARY, ELSIE AND RAY. 


13 


Elsie stood in the doorway tapping her 
foot impatiently. Suddenly the singing up 
stairs ceased. 

Elsie started : 

“ There ! Now that foolish girl has gone 
to dreaming again over the birds, the sky 
or something. She’ll forget there ever was 
any school.” 

“ Mary! Mary ! Why do you not come?” 
called Mrs. Sanborn. 

I’m coming, mother,” was the reply. 

When Mary appeared, she looked so 
radiant that the reproof died on Mrs. 
Sanborn’s lips. 

Good-bye, dear little mother,” said Mary, 
kissing her mother affectionately. Do not 
work yourself to death while we are gone. 
When I get to be a teacher, we will have 
plenty of money. I will throw away those 
needles and burn up that sewing-machine ; 
you shall have an easy life.” 

Mrs. Sanborn gave her daughter a troubled 
look, but made no reply to the cheery speech. 

Just as the girls were starting, little 
Arthur, the youngest of the family, came 
running from his play to kiss his sister. 


14 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


Where have you been, pet, that you did 
not come to help sister feed the birdies?” 
asked Mary. 

Why, don’t you know ? I had to plant 
my garden ; it’s time, mamma says,” holding 
up his hands, which gave good evidence that 
they had been digging in the ground. 

As they went down the path Elsie called 
out, 

“ Now, you little rogue, don’t you dare to 
dig up my flower-bed,” shaking her Anger 
warningly at the laughing boy. There were 
generally more weeds than flowers in Elsie’s 
garden. 

Mary stopped to break off a branch of 
lovely apple-blossoms. “ If I could only 
paint them !” she thought. Then the two 
girls started off briskly for their morning’s 
walk. Their pleasant home was just on the 
outskirts of the town of Carleton, nearly a 
mile from school ; so they did not return 
until afternoon. But what was a walk of a 
mile to them, with the fresh life-blood 
bounding through their veins? Feet and 
muscles had not traveled far enough to begin 
to grow stiff and easily wearied. 


MARY, ELSIE AND RAY. 


15 


111 spite of her sister’s raillery, Mary 
kept breaking out into exclamations of 
delight : 

Is not this morning just perfect, Elsie?” 

‘‘Why, of course it’s pleasant — just like 
hundreds of otlier mornings.” 

“ But, Elsie, we’ve not had such a mornin 
this year. Listen to those birds rollickin 
and frolicking, full of the year’s new breath. 
That robin’s throat is just bursting with 
song; he is singing his morning hymn of 
praise.” 

“ Now, Mary, you are a goose. He sings 
because he was made to sing ; I guess lie 
doesn’t know much about praise. It’s all 
nonsense.” 

“ But everything is glorious, the sun is 
shining so brightly.” 

“The sun generally shines on pleasant 
mornings, doesn’t it ?” 

“Oh, Elsie, you are all out of tune.” 

“ No, I am not ; but I don’t see any use 
in going into raptures eternally over every- 
thing you see.” 

“ Why, Elsie, wliat book have you there?” 

“It’s Glen OrdoG^ 


bJO to 


16 


SUNSHINE 3IAEY. 


“ You don't mean to say you are reading 
that?" 

“ Why, of course I am. Where is the 
harm? You read it." 

‘‘But I read it in vacation, and mother 
said I might. You must remember that I 
am a great deal older than you are." 

“So old, to be sure! All of sixteen! I 
happen to be only two years younger than 
your precious self." 

“Well, I would tell mother; I would not 
hide it from her." 

“ She can see it if she chooses ; I had it 
there right before her face and eyes this 
morning. I’m not going to tell her every 
little thing I do." 

“ She does not like to have us read novels 
when we are busy with our studies." 

“ Which is the worst, to read fiction or to 
keep dreaming it out as you do ?" 

Mary bit her lips. Why must Elsie al- 
ways find out her weak spots and so un- 
mercifully touch them? 

“Cousin Sallie says you live in a world 
of your own — a ‘ highfalutin kind of a 
world.’ " 


MARY, ELSIE AND RAY. 


17 


‘‘‘Cousin Sallie’! Do not mention her; 
she is hateful.’’ 

“ She’s very bright, I think. I am going 
to call you the dreamer : ‘ Behold this 

dreamer cometh !’ ” with a tragic gesture. 

“ I hope you do not intend to act the 
part of one of Joseph’s brethren ?” laughed 
Mary. 

“ I suppose I am bad enough to act that 
part, or any other and Elsie broke into a 
laugh. 

With that the sisters separated, Elsie for 
the high-school and Mary for the excellent 
select school where she was preparing her- 
self for Highland Seminary, which she 
hoped to enter in the fall. 

Notwithstanding all this badinage, the 
sisters were very tenderly attached to each 
other — all the more so, perhaps, because 
they were so entirely different in temper- 
ament and in disposition. Deep down in 
Elsie’s heart was an unbounded admiration 
for “ Sister Mary,” but it did not often find 
expression in words. Generally, to tease 
and torment her sister seemed to be Elsie’s 
delight; for teasing came as naturally to 
2 


• 18 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


this willful little sprite as sportiveness to 
kittens. 

“Here comes our brightness,” exclaimed 
Alice Perry as Mary’s smiling face appeared 
in the schoolroom. Alice was Mary’s de- 
voted friend and admirer. “And how do 
you find yourself this beautiful morning, 
Mary my dear?” 

“ Oh, I am splendid ; I feel as though I 
were walking on air. What a glorious 
world this is ! I don’t know that I want to 
live in any different one.” 

“ Why, Mary Sanborn ! Do not speak in 
that way.” 

“What have I said tliat is so dreadful, 
Ray?” turning her laughing face toward 
Ray Thatcher, a girl older than herself, in 
deep black, who was sitting at one of the 
desks. “ Come, now. Old Solemn, do not 
look so doleful.” 

Mary dropped into the seat, and, putting 
her arm around Ray, gave her a kiss. 

“ You certainly do not mean, Mary, that 
you want to stay always in this wicked 
world ?” 

Mary’s laugh rang out gayly : 


MARY, ELSIE AND RAY. 19 

“ ‘ Wicked world ’? It does not seem very 
wicked this bright morning. Everything 
looks so clean and sweet ! The world is 
singing for very joy.” 

I know it is lovely, but there is a better 
world than this.” Then, softly, ‘‘ Oh, Mary, 
I wish you truly loved God with all your 
heart.” 

In a moment Mary’s face grew sober and 
earnest : 

“ I do love him ; I cannot remember the 
time when I did not.” 

“ Yes, you love him as you love everybody 
— just as you love the birds and the flowers, 
and everything beautiful.” 

I do love the birds and the flowers, and 
I love the kind Father who made them all.” 

But, Mary, you do not love the Saviour 
as you ought to love him, or you would want 
to join the church.” 

Oh, Bay, how could I join the church ? 
I am too gay ; wait until I grow sober.” 

‘‘When will that be?” 

“ I am sure I do not know — a long time, 
I suppose. All church-members are so sol- 
emn !” 


20 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


Marj dear, you know it is not iny re- 
ligion that makes me sorrowful and Kay’s 
lip quivered. 

I know, poor Kay ! But do not think 
about it now ; just look up and be glad.” 

The bell for morning prayers interrupted 
the conversation. 

All that day Mary felt anxious lest she 
had hurt Kay’s sensitive heart, already so 
sore. No one knew so well as she all the 
trials of Kay’s life. The death of a loved 
mother and the more recent death of a very 
dear sister had cast a shadow over her o:irl- 
hood. Naturally despondent and with frail 
health, it was not strange that she carried a 
heavy heart and a sad face. It was to Mary 
that she turned ; it was Mary’s tender 
sympathy, courage and hope that often 
dispelled the clouds. The happy Mary, 
running over with life and fun, yet withal 
so sweet-hearted, had a strange fascination 
for this quiet Kay. 

During the short noon recess Mary and 
Alice were busy painting the apple-blossoms 
which Mary had brought — trying “to imprison 
the beauty and the sweetness,” as Maj-y said. 


MARY, RLSTE ARD RAY. 


21 


Mary’s laugh floated over to Kay’s seat 
like pleasant music, yet the morning’s con- 
versation troubled the earnest girl. Could 
her seemingly thoughtless friend really be a 
Christian ? Kay feared Mary’s imagination 
was more touched than her heart. ‘‘ I must 
talk with her again,” she thought. And 
Mary, looking over to Kay’s desk, was 
thinking, I must see Kay after school and 
tell her how sorry I am for my unkind 
speech. My poor dear Kay !” 

Kay’s elegant home was at the farther end 
of the town, but on the same street that 
led out to the ‘‘ little nest,” as Mary liad 
christened her mother’s cottage ; so the two 
girls often walked home together. It was 
these homeward walks with Mary that Kay 
prized as the best part of the day. Then 
she could open her heart and be sure of 
sympathy and help. 

The bevy of happy young girls that 
chattering and laughing left Miss Barlow’s 
school that afternoon soon separated in dif- 
ferent directions, leaving Kay and Mary to 
each other. 

‘‘ I see you and Kay want one of your 


22 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


long talks,” Alice had said as Mary took 
Ray’s arm, and I do not propose to be the 
unfortunate third party ; so good-bye.” With 
this Alice left them, instead of escorting Mary 
halfway home, as she generally did. 

Mary and Ray sauntered along in the 
bright sunshine. Mary told Ray how sorry 
she felt for making such a thoughtless speech 
in the morning. Mary was so full of life 
and joy, yet so gentle and sweet in her 
penitence, that Ray could not find it in her 
heart to speak the faithful word she had 
intended. At last they reached Ray’s home, 
but lingered by the gate, in true girl-fashion. 

Suddenly Ray broke out: 

Oh, Mary, you have been such a comfort 
to me ! I wish you might have every 
blessing; I wish you loved the Saviour.” 
She spoke very earnestly, and the hazel 
eyes were full of tears. 

Mary turned an astonished face toward 
her : 

“Why, Ray, I do love him. I would 
not grieve him for the world.” 

“ Do you really, Mary ? I am so glad ! 
I feared my gloom might keep you away 


MARY, ELSTE AND RAY. 23 

from him. I have often wanted to tell you 
what a Friend he is — how he has helped and 
blessed me in the short time I have been a 
Christian. I know I am not so cheerful as 
I ought to be, but then I have not your 
happy disposition.’’ 

‘‘ Of course you have not, dear Ray, but 
no one doubts your being an earnest Chris- 
tian.” 

But, Mary, if you really love Jesus, do 
you not think you ought to stand with his 
children ?” 

Perhaps so. Mother never urges it; she 
says she hopes I will feel like doing it some 
day. I will think about it.” Then, with a 
brio-ht smile, ‘‘ I am ever so much obliged to 
you for this little preachment. Now, if I were 
going to preach to you, I would take for my 
text ‘ Be happy,’ and this should be the 
sermon : 

“ ‘ Come out, O heart, in the sunshine, in the golden laughing 
light ; 

Lift up your voice and thank the good God that it is not 
always night.’” 

Mary’s face grew radiant as she repeated the 
lines. 


24 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


But, Mary, you have never known sor- 
row.’’ 

‘‘Oh, Bay, you forget ray dear father,” 
she replied, with trembling voice. 

“ I know, but you were so young when 
he died that you did not realize the loss.” 

“ I remember it, though. Can I ever for- 
get my darling papa ?” Mary made an up- 
ward gesture, as though calling him from 
the skies. She could not tell even Bay how 
near he seemed to her at times — how she 
often imagined she could see his face in the 
clouds. “ But I must be going ; mother will 
be tired watching for me. God is good ; 
you and I will be glad,” were her words as 
they parted. 

“ She is just like sunshine ; she must be 
God’s child,” was Bay’s mental exclamation 
after Mary had left her. 

Mary walked homeward in a quiet, sober 
mood ; but when fairly out of the town, the 
happy sights and sounds of the spring day 
drove away all serious thoughts. Her spir- 
its rose to a wild exuberance. She tripped 
along gayly, watching the few fleecy clouds 
and the shimmering leaves, talking to her- 


MARY, ELSIE AND RAY. 25 

self or to the birds, stopping to gather a 
flower or a twig, and with all weaving her 
own beautiful fancies. Almost before she 
knew it she reached her home, to be met 
b}’’ Elsie at the door with the query, 
“Been wool-gathering again, Sis?’’ 


CHAPTER II. 


SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

FTER watching the girls depart, little 



Arthur returned to his play. Mrs. 
Sanborn lingered a few moments on the 
piazza, then with a sigh went back to her 
work. The brightness and joy of the spring 
morning oppressed her, it was all so sadly in 
contrast with the gloom and sorrow of her 
own feelings. It was four years ago that 
day that her loved husband had gone to his 
better home, leaving her alone with her 
little family. When Arthur was only a few 
weeks old, the strong arm on which she had 
leaned was suddenly paralyzed, the kind, true 
heart ceased to beat. As she stood in the 
sunlight that morning it seemed only yes- 
terday that he had gone out from the pleas- 
ant home where they had been so happy to- 
gether, leaving it dark and lonely. It was 
all fresh in her heart, yet four long years 


SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 27 

had passed — years of anxiety and of care. 
Bravely and strongly she had aroused her- 
self from her crushing grief to devote all 
her energies to her children, for their sakes 
hiding her heartache under a smiling face ; 
yet that morning, tired and half sick, there 
came over her an almost irresistible longing 
to lie down beside her husband and be for 
ever at rest. As she thought of him in his 
blessed dwelling-place, of her two little chil- 
dren whom Jesus had cradled in his arms, 
the prayer rose to her lips, Take me too, O 
my Saviour !” She strove against the 
thought as selfish and weak. But when 
seated at her sewing, all her household 
duties finished, the weight on her heart 
could not be thrown off : it was too heavy ; 
so she took it to her great Burden-bearer, 
pouring out her soul with strong crying 
and tears. She rose from her knees quiet- 
ed, comforted, feeling sure of guidance and 
strength in all that might come. She knew 
there were some things that must be faced ; 
she tried to think them over calmly, that she 
might decide what ought to be done. 

In all her life Mrs. Sanborn had never 


28 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


been obliged to have any thought or care 
about pecuniary matters. Her early home 
had been one of plenty ; her married life, 
through the mistaken kindness of her hus- 
band, had been guarded from the knowledge 
of any financial troubles. Mr. Sanborn was 
not a practical business-man, but was lit- 
erary in all his tastes. Her father had ob- 
jected to the match on this account; her 
friends generally had thought him “shift- 
less” because he had not succeeded in mak- 
ing a fortune. But this did not trouble Mrs. 
Sanborn ; she understood and appreciated her 
noble husband, and with enthusiasm joined 
him in his intellectual and scientific studies. 
In her cozy home, happy in the love of her 
family, her life glided on like a pleasant 
dream. Suddenly the storm came. Death 
broke the charmed circle : two of their little 
ones went home to live with God ; soon after, 
the call came to the idolized husband and 
father, “ Come up higher.” It was a terrible 
awakening to that wife and mother, but her 
faith and hope did not fail. Bravely she 
assumed her new duties, but, to her dismay, 
she soon found that their pleasant home was 


SUN>sm2^E AND SHADOW. 


29 


mortgaged, that their little property had 
gradually melted away until their income 
was very small. Her parents were dead; so 
she could not go to them for help. Proud, 
sensitive and independent, she hid her trou- 
bles from other i-elatives lest they might 
blame the beloved one. 

Mr. Sanborn had been working hard in 
preparing for publication a book from which 
he hoped to realize enough to pay off all his 
indebtedness, but his sudden death gave no 
opportunity for even an explanation to the 
loved wife, over whom he had had such a shel- 
tering care. Mrs. Sanborn thought that with 
economy and good management they might 
be able to keep the home. Gradually one 
comfort after another was given up. The 
faithful servant was dismissed ; Mary’s mu- 
sic-lessons were discontinued ; the horse and 
carriage were sold. Then Clarence, her 
pride, her first-born, had been taken from 
school and placed in the store of Mr. Lang- 
don, her husband’s friend. To Mary’s sor- 
row and the mortification of Clarence and 
Elsie, Mrs. Sanborn had finally resorted to 
taking in fancy sewing from acquaintances, 


30 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


who paid her well for her work. Yet, with 
all her efforts, the interest on the mortgage 
had not been fully met, while she found that 
her own strength was failing. 

Two conclusions were forced upon Mrs. 
Sanborn after her long thinking that May 
morning : the home must be sold and the 
plans for Mary’s education must be given 
up for the present. To disappoint Mary, to 
cloud the happy young life of the child who 
had been her husband’s pet — his blessed 
Sunshine” — was the hardest part for the 
mother. ‘‘ I must tell Mary the whole,” she 
thought — ^Uell her this very evening; then, 
as soon as possible, Mr. Langdon must be 
consulted about selling the place.” 

Clarence had long known something of 
the situation of affairs, yet even the partial 
mother had to admit that her gay, handsome 
boy had not given her the sympathy and 
help for whicdi she longed and hoped. 
^‘He is so young!” she said, excusingly ; 
yet instinctively she felt that Mary, once ta- 
ken into her confidence, would be a stronger 
reliance than Clarence had ever been. He 
had willingly given up school, for study was 


SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


31 


not to his liking ; but he did not care to 
hear of business troubles. ‘‘Oh, don't you 
fret, mother ; it will all come out right in 
the end," were his words whenever Mrs. 
Sanborn attempted to talk with him seri- 
ously. Ah, thoughtless Clarence ! it was easy 
for you to cast off care, leaving the load for 
the mother's heart to bear. Many boys at 
eighteen have lifted the burdens from a 
widowed mother's life. God bless such boys, 
as he surely will. 

When Arthur came in, tired from his 
play, Mrs. Sanborn was singing softly : 

“ Renew my will from day to day ; 

Blend it with thine, and take away 
Whatever makes it hard to say, 

‘ Thy will be done.’ ” 

Something in the tone touched the child. 
He threw his arms around his mother's neck, 
exclaiming, 

“ Oh, mamma, don't feel bad ; Arthur 
loves you." 

Mrs. Sanborn took him on her lap, cover- 
ing him with kisses, then folded him close to 
her heart. God only could know how she 
clung to the “ little nest," the home of her 


32 


SUNSHINE iMARY. 


happy married life — how hard it was to say, 
“ Thy will be done.” 

Mary’s overflowing gladness vanished as 
she entered the pleasant sitting-room and saw 
her mother’s pale face. 

‘‘ Oh, mother, you are sick and tired,” 
she said, tenderly taking the thin cheeks 
between her plump hands. It is because 
you have been shut up here all day working 
hard instead of being out in the sunlight.” 

Mrs. Sanborn could not keep back the 
tears : 

‘‘ No, dear, it is not that. You remember 
what day this is ?” 

Oh, it is papa’s day ! I had forgotten 
it. How could I ? Why did you not tell 
me, mother?” 

“ I did not want to sadden the beautiful 
day to you.” 

‘‘ It would not have saddened it. He 
seemed so near to me this afternoon ; I 
thought I saw his face in the clouds,” 
while a tender, dreamy look came into her 
eyes. Then, cheerfully, ‘‘Now, mother dear, 
you lie down on the sofa and rest ; Elsie and 
I will get you up the nicest kind of a tea.” 


SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


33 


Mrs. Sanborn followed her advice, while 
Mary flitted into the dining-room : 

Come, now, Elsie, lay down that novel. 
You and I must get tea, for mother is about 
sick.’’ 

‘‘At your service. Queen May. There is 
only one thing that I will not do: that is 
to put my beautiful hands into dish-water,” 
holding up her brown hands in a dramatic 
way. They were several shades darker than 
Nature intended^ owing to Elsie’s hatred of 
gloves — “ those abominations!” 

“From dish- washing you shall be excused ; 
I will flourish the dish-mop in mother’s place. 
You shall do the polishing.” 

So, with fun and laughter, the work was 
commenced and speedily done. Arthur 
joined in the frolic, helping in his way. 
Mary spread the white cloth, then got out 
some choice pieces of china and a curious 
tea-caddy that were used only on state oc- 
casions. After she had tastefully arranged 
some apple-blossoms in a pretty vase. Miss 
Elsie declared the whole thing “complete 
in all its parts,” adding mentally, “ Only one 
thing lacking : that I will add.” 

3 


34 


SUNSHINE 31ARY. 


As Mrs. Sanborn lay on the sofa listening 
to the peals of merry laughter that sounded 
from the other room she remembered with a 
pang the serious talk she must have with 
Mary that evening; but the comforting 
thought soon came, ‘‘ God can make her 
strong to do and to bear.’’ 

When Mary sent Arthur to ‘‘ call mamma 
to tea,” Mrs. Sanborn had fallen into a quiet 
sleep. At the last moment Mary had rushed 
into the kitchen to fill the little tea-kettle 
with boiling water; Elsie took that opportu- 
nity to ‘‘add what was lacking ” by putting 
a big bunch of dandelions in the vase of 
apple-blossoms, changing the lovely bouquet 
from the beautiful to the grotesque. 

“Elsie, did you do that? How could 
you?” was Mary’s annoyed exclamation as 
she took her seat at the table. 

“Why, of course I did. You say no 
bouquet is complete without yellow. These 
are your pet flowers ; you’ll have a chance to 
examine their beauties while we are eating.” 

“Take them out, Elsie, and throw them 
away ; that was not a kind thing to do,” 
said Mrs. Sanborn. 


SUNSHINE AND SHADOW, 


35 


Elsie reluctantly obeyed : 

“ Don’t see any use in making such a fuss 
about a little fun.” 

We will not let it spoil our pleasant 
meal. How prettily you girls have arranged 
the table ! How beautiful is everything out 
of doors !” looking out on the glad new 
world, just then glorified by the setting 
sun. 

The unspoken thought in Mrs. Sanborn’s 
heart was, ‘‘ Oh, if the dear father could only 
join us !” Looking across the table into her 
daughter’s eyes, she felt sure that Mary too 
was thinking of the absent one. She imag- 
ined the truth, only Mary’s thought was, 
‘‘Papa is here.” 

Mary’s long bright day at last came to 
an end. After the evening’s work was com- 
pleted and everything made snug and neat, 
Arthur curled himself up in his mother’s 
lap, complaining of being “so sleepy!” He 
was soon safely tucked away in his little crib. 
Then Elsie’s saucy tongue grew silent, for 
she had dropped down on the sofa and was 
off to Dreamland in a twinkling. Mary 
and her mother were left alone by the open 


3B SUNSHINE MARY. 

fire which Mary had kindled on the hearth 
as the evening grew chilly. A fire on the 
hearth was Mary’s admiration. Mary 
must always have something yellow around 
her — if she can’t have sunshine, she must 
have firelight — to correspond with her gold- 
en locks,” was Elsie’s comment. 

Mary sat on a low seat watching the 
flames as they flickened and danced on the 
polished andirons, lighting up a landscape 
on the opposite wall. The pleasant sitting- 
room, with its piano, books and ornaments 
showing refinement and taste, made a pretty 
picture, of which Mary herself was the cen- 
tre. How sweet and fair she looked in the 
loving mother’s eyes as she sat there in the 
soft light gazing into the fire ! Suddenly 
she broke out : 

Oh, mother, I have been so happy to- 
day ! I cannot tell you how happy. I have 
been just wild with joy.” 

“I know it, my child.” The tone was 
sorrowful. 

I wonder why I am so happy — whether 
it is because I love God, or because I am 
so made that I cannot help being glad ? 


SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 37 

Ray thinks I love God just as I love every- 
thing that is beautiful ; she says if I loved 
him as I ought, I would want to join the 
church.” 

Well, Mary, you are quite old enough 
to take that step. When you feel like doing 
it, I shall be very thankful.” 

“But, mother, I can never be sober. I 
am so different from you and Bay, and you 
are both so good.” 

“ God knows all about the difference, 
Mary.” 

“ I imagine Bay thinks that I need 
trouble to make me what I ought to be.” 

“And that may come all too soon.” 

The tone startled Mary : 

“ Why, mother, what dreadful thing is 
going to happen ?” 

Then Mrs. Sanborn told her daughter all 
about their circumstances and her own anx- 
ieties and fears, carefully guarding the saint- 
ed father’s name from any suspicion of blame 
in Mary’s mind. 

Mary listened eagerly to Mrs. Sanborn’s 
story, then exclaimed cheerfully, 

“ But, mother, it is not so very bad ; for 


38 


SUNSHINE MABY. 


a long time I have known that we had not 
much money to spend, from things you and 
Clarence have said and from your working 
so hard. But when I once get to teaching, 
Clarence and I can easily pay off the debt 
on the place and keep our dear little nest.’’ 

‘‘ But, Mary, I cannot send you to school 
this fall ; you will have to give that up for 
the present.” 

“Why — But, mother, I must go; I can- 
not give up my school,” answered Mary, 
choking down a sob. 

“ I am so sorry for you — so sorry to dis- 
appoint your hopes, Mary — but I cannot 
send you this year.” 

Mary’s head drooped; but in a few mo- 
ments, with a strong effort, she looked up 
brightly : 

“Well, at the worst, it will only be de- 
ferred. I will go some time, if I have to 
earn the money.” 

After a short silence a new thought came 
to Mary : 

“ Mother, why can we not publish papa’s 
book and make money in that way ? It is 
nearly finished, you said.” 


SUNSHII^E AND SHADOW. 


39 


‘‘ It needs revising and correcting ; he in- 
tended making many alterations.’’ 

“ Could you not do that part yourself, 
mother? It would be pleasanter work for 
you than sewing is.” 

‘‘ I fear I have not the courage nor the 
ability to undertake such a task. Then how 
would it be possible for me to get it published.?” 
for many times had Mrs. Sanborn thought 
this all over. 

“ If I cannot go to school this year, 
perhaps I can help you as to the publication. 
I am sure some of dear papa’s friends will 
lend a helping hand.” 

‘‘My brave, cheerful Mary! How you 
have comforted me ! But we must not 
talk more to-night; you girls must go to 
bed.” * 

“ Now, mother dear, promise me that you 
will not worry over all these troubles any 
more. It will all come out splendidly.” 

“You are full of hope; you paint every- 
thing in rose-color.” Then, very earnestly, 
“ I fear, my dear Mary, that you do too 
much day-dreaming for your own good : you 
must try to give up the habit.” 


40 


SUNSHINE MABY. 


“ Give up so many pleasant things at once 
— iny school and all my beautiful dreams? 
Oh, mother !” A despairing look came into 
the young girl’s face. 

Mrs. Sanborn could say no more ; she 
drew Mary closely to her, giving a good- 
night kiss and a loving ‘‘ God bless you, 
darling !” 

With difficulty Elsie was aroused from her 
slumbers, and then the two girls went up to 
their rooms — ‘Alary’s sanctum and my den,” 
as Elsie called them. The general appear- 
ance of the two rooms made the names seem 
quite appropriate. 

Once in her own safe retreat, out of 
mother’s sight and hearing, Mary threw 
herself upon the bed and had a girl’s good 
long cry. Even Mrs. Sanborn did not quite 
understand what a trial it would be to Mary 
to give up her plan of entering Highland 
Seminary that fall. Eay and Alice both 
hoped to go ; they had talked it all over 
together so many times, with such bright 
anticipations. To have them go and leave 
her behind seemed to Mary more than she 
could bear. But soon her buoyant spirit 


SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 41 

began to see the light. Before she was 
ready for bed she had imagined several 
different ways in which all obstacles to her 
pet scheme might be removed. ‘‘If I must 
give it up, I will try to be patient, for mother’s 
sake — for Jesus’ sake,” she thought ; “ but I 
am sure there will be some opening, so that 
I can go.” She read the blessed psalm, 
“ The Lord is my Shepherd,” then, kneeling 
down, told all her hopes and fears to her 
heavenly Father. Soon the sound sleep of 
youth had barred out all annoying thoughts ; 
in their place came pleasant dreams. 

Mrs. Sanborn, too, found such peaceful 
slumber as she had not known in many 
weeks. She had shared her burden with 
another. How light that often makes the 
heart! She felt sure of Mary’s sympathy and 
co-operation, and so was comforted. 

In Mary’s prayer that night was this 
earnest petition : “ Help me, O my Saviour, 
to show my love for thee by confessing thee 
before my schoolmates and the world!” 
Thus it proved that Bay’s words had not 
dropped unheeded. Is the faithful word 
ever lost if spoken with tenderness and 


42 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


love? Sometimes, like the little seed that 
the bird carries or the wind wafts away, we 
find it springing up in some crevice of the 
rock where least expected. 


CHAPTER III. 

CONFESSING CHRIST. 

J UNE had come, the month of roses, the 
queen month of the year. Mary was 
standing in her flower-garden, trowel in 
hand, flushed and heated by her morning’s 
work, but looking with satisfaction at the 
result of her labors. Flowers are said to 
grow and bloom for those who love them ; 
but work and care must go with the love. 
For some reason, there was always a bounti- 
ful supply of buds and blossoms in Mary’s 
little patch. 

‘‘Oh, May,” exclaimed Arthur, rushing up 
to his sister, “only see what I have found!” 

He opened his basket, showing some bright 
red strawberries, the first that had ripened. 

“Oh how nice! Put some green leaves 
under them and see how pretty they will 
look ; then carry them in for mamma to 
enjoy.” 


43 


44 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


Yes, I will.” Tlie little fellow arranged 
them, then hurried into the house. 

Elsie sauntered along more leisurely : 

‘‘ How fine your garden looks ! — rather 
different from mine.” 

‘‘Elsie, it is a shame for you to let that 
poor little bed of yours get so full of 
weeds.” 

“ I suppose so, but I cannot spoil my lily 
complexion by working out in the hot sun.” 

“ You are not so careful of your com- 
plexion generally ; it is only by chance that 
you ever wear a hat,” laughed Mary. “ But 
come: you and I will clean it out, or you 
will not be able to find a flower by next 
Saturday.” 

“Agreed ! We will do it. I never refuse 
assistance ; it would not be polite ;” so to 
work they went with zeal. 

“ I wish we could pull up the weeds in our 
hearts as easily as we do these,” said Mary. 

“ What kind of weeds, pray ?” 

“ Oh, weeds of pride, of vanity and fool- 
ish dreaming.” 

“ What a weedy old garden your heart 
must be ! Now, IVe nothing to be vain 


CONFESSING CHRIST. 


45 


and proud over ; so I’m saved all that 
trouble.” 

Mary looked up earnestly : 

“ But, Elsie, there must be something that 
needs pulling up. Is there no willfulness?” 

“ Now, don’t begin to sermonize. It’s bad 
enough to have mother do that ; her lectures 
are all I can stand. Mary Sanborn, do you 
know it’s only about two weeks before your 
commencement? I should like to know what 
you are going to wear ?” 

‘‘ I wish I knew, Elsie. The girls will all 
wear white, but my old dress is too dilap- 
idated.” 

“ Why, you must have a new one, of 
course. The idea of your singing, reciting, 
and being the belle of the evening general- 
ly, in a tattered old gown ! That will never 
do.” 

But I do not think mother can afford to 
get me a new one.” 

“ Oh, nonsense ! We are not so poor as 
all that. You just ask mother; she will 
not refuse.” 

“ But what will you wear at your closing 
exercises ?” 


46 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


‘‘ My pink muslin, of course, and all the 
red ribbons I can lay my hands on.” 

“ Not pink and red, I hope ?” 

“ I’d like to have it all red : red becomes 
my complexion. But — ” 

‘‘ What piece are you to speak ?” 

“ Wait until I have it learned ; then I 
will show you something remarkable. I 
wish they would let me recite ‘The Ma- 
niac.’ ” 

“Oh, Elsie, the idea! Such a chit as you 
reciting that!” 

“‘Chit,’ to be sure! Oh, I forgot: some- 
body is going to have a birthday soon. 
Well, I do believe I could do it to perfec- 
tion, and I would just like the fun.” 

“Was it that you were practicing the 
other day when you were making such 
outrageous noises in your room ?” 

Elsie burst into a merry laugh : 

“ Come ! this bed is clean enough. Let 
us go in and have a consultation with mother 
over the dr ess- question.” 

Mary stopped to gather some pansies and 
lilies-of-the-valley to add to her house-dec- 
orations of roses. With what a strangely 


CONFESSTNO CHRIST. 


47 


human glance the pansies looked up at tier ! 
From the “ saintly white, gold at the heart 
and purple-veined,’’ to the deep blacks, no 
two had the same expression. To Mary 
they seemed like living friends ; she won- 
dered what pleasant things they would say 
if they could speak. Then she softly re- 
peated : 

“ ‘ Dear flower — half liuman, half divine — 

A triple thread of mystery 
Has bound thy little life to mine, 

And wakes both hope and fear in me.’ ” 

Over the lilies too she had to dream. 
She pictured to herself the tiny fairies who 
dwelt within them, and could almost hear 
the dulcet chimes that on moonlight nights 
they rang on their little bells. But the 
sweetest fancy of all was the remembrance 
that a great man had called lovely, beauti- 
ful flowers ‘^a thought of God.” 

Elsie’s impatient voice broke in upon her 
revery : 

‘‘ May ! May ! Are you never coming ?” 

Mrs. Sanborn agreed that Mary ought to 
have the new dress : 


48 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


I have been thinking about it, but did 
not see how I could get it made.’^ 

Oh, I can help make it, mother. Ray 
has such a pretty one just come home from 
the dressmaker’s ; she will gladly lend it. 
Then we can make mine like that.” 

“ But, Mary, you will not have time for 
any sewing, you will be so busy with your 
studies the coming two weeks.” 

‘‘ I suppose so ; but, mother, can you not 
hire some one to help you?” 

“ No, Mary ; if the dress is made, I must 
do it myself.” 

Mary sighed, but did not protest ; for she 
wanted the new dress exceedingly. 

“ Well, girls, we will go up to your rooms 
and look over your wardrobes to see what 
must be done.” 

Passing through Elsie’s den,” Mrs. San- 
born stopped with a horrified look on her 
face. The apartment certainly did give one 
the impression that it had been struck by 
lightning or swept by a whirlwind : 

‘‘Oh, Elsie, my dear child, when will you 
learn to keep your room in better order? 
How different it looks from Mary’s !” 


CONFESSING CHRIST. 


49 


Why, mother, I could not live in Mary’s 
sanctum ; I should feel as though I were in 
a strait-jacket. It makes my back ache 
to go in there, it’s all so proper. I must 
be in a place where I can tumble things 
around sometimes.” 

I should think so, from the occasional 
sounds,” laughed Mary. 

Mrs. Sanborn decided that a new dress 
must be bought; she proposed that Mary 
should that afternoon go to town and purchase 
the material for it. 

But, mother, Alice and Miss Carter, our 
botany-class teacher, are coming for me to go 
with them to the woods beyond here to look 
for early wild-flowers — some rare specimens 
that we want to find. Will not Monday do 
just as well ?” 

Hardly, Mary ; I ought to commence it 
Monday. If the stores were only as near as 
our church, I could go myself; but it is too 
ions: a walk. I will have to send Elsie.” 

I’ll go. I’m a master-hand at shopping; 
it just suits me. Then I can be excused, I 
suppose, from any more of the Saturday’s 
work ?” 


4 


50 


SUNSHINE 3IARr. 


“ I don’t know about trusting Elsie to buy 
my dress.” 

‘‘Oh how much I miss — ” commenced 
Mrs. Sanborn as she thought of the horse 
and carriage always at her command in 
former years; but she checked herself, for 
she never spoke regretfully of these things 
before her children. 

The town of Carleton was a large one ; 
unfortunately for Mrs. Sanborn, the schools 
and most of the stores were at its farther 
end. But after dinner who should drive up 
but Bay in her phaeton ? As soon as she 
found out the state of the case she offered 
to take Mrs. Sanborn on her errands, giv- 
ing her and Arthur a pleasant ride. 

“And what will you do with yourself, 
Elsie?” asked Mary. 

“You just leave me to my own devices; 
I can find amusement. Then I must protect 
the home-nest.” 

So, in great glee, Mary started off on her 
ramble, sure that her mother, as well as 
herself, would have a charming time. 

That long June afternoon spent with her 
beloved Miss Carter and Alice was a delight 


OONFESSINO CHRIST. 


61 


to Mary. What treasures they found in 
the woods, hidden away in dingles and in 
hollows ! — anemones white and frail swaying 
gracefully on their threadlike stems, true 

wind-flowers hepaticas with their three- 
lobed corollas, blue as the sky above them; 
delicate ferns and mosses, tender winter- 
greens and snowy dogwood-blossoms. Miss 
Carter was as enthusiastic as the girls ; 
indeed, she was their inspiration, if they 
needed any, for she loved Mother Nature, 
understood many of her secrets, and could 
tell the names of the different flowers, their 
families and their habits. But some specimens 
they found that day even Miss Carter did not 
recognize, but took home for more careful 
examination. 

Oh, the joy of finding something new and 
wonderful, the pure joy of a bright after- 
noon passed in the woods examining its 
beauties ! Those who have never spent long 
hours thus near to Nature’s heart ” do not 
know how much they miss. 

W^hen Mary reached home, just after sun- 
set, she found her mother quite refreshed by 
her pleasant drive : 


52 


SUNSHINE MARY, 


“ Then Elsie had the tea all ready on my 
return ; we are waiting for you, Mary. It 
was quite an undertaking for Elsie,’’ with a 
loving smile which the seemingly indifferent 
Elsie did not fail to appreciate. 

‘‘Well, I am glad tea waits, for I am as 
hungry as a bear. It need wait no longer.” 

“ It’s well you did not invite in those other 
cubs ; there would not have been enough in 
the house to feed you all. I did not provide 
for many bears.” 

“ How good it was in Ray to take you to 
ride ! What a dear, blessed girl she is !” re- 
marked Mary to her mother when they were 
sitting in the parlor after tea. 

“ Yes, Ray is a lovely, unselfish girl. I 
only wish she felt a little differently toward 
her new mother.” 

“But she cannot love Mrs. Thatcher as 
she would her own dear mother.” 

“No, of course — not exactly in the same 
way; but she need not be so prejudiced 
against one who has taken a diflftcult position 
as to be blind to all her good qualities. That 
is very wrong indeed.” 

“ Ray feels hurt because her mother ob- 


CONFESSING CHRIST. 


53 


jects to her going with us to Highland Sem- 
inary. Mrs. Thatcher thinks a more fashion- 
able school would be better for Ray ; indeed, 
she says Ray had better wait a year before 
entering any school.’’ 

“ I agree with Mrs. Thatcher that it might 
be better for Ray to wait, for the girl is so 
delicate. Mrs. Thatcher is a kind and sensi- 
ble woman. Ray is very morbid ; I wish 
you could give her some of your cheerful- 
ness.” 

I wish I could, mother ; I often try.” 

As Mary was bidding her mother Good- 
night” Mrs. Sanborn said gently, 

Mary, are you still clinging to the hope 
that you can enter at Highland this fall ?” 

A cloud came over the bright face in a 
moment: 

“ Why, yes, mother. There is no harm in 
hoping, is there ?” 

‘‘ I fear it will make it all the harder for 
you in the end, for I cannot see the slightest 
prospect of your going.” 

“ Well, mother, if I cannot go, I do not 
mean to make you nor others unhappy on 
account of my disappointment.” 


54 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


‘‘ Nor yourself, either, I trust 

‘‘No, mother dear; I could not be un- 
happy long in God’s beautiful world,” she 
replied, with a touch of her usual gayety. 

Mary started for the door, then, turning 
back, said in a low tone, 

“ Mother, there is one thing that I think, 
with your permission, I would like to do : 
that is to unite with the church at the next 
communion. Ray’s earnest words have kept 
me thinking about it all these weeks. Then 
Mr. Abbott’s sermon last Sunday made it so 
plain that Jesus wants the young hearts and 
lives in the Church. I begin to feel that I 
ought to show my love for him in his ap- 
pointed way.” 

Mrs. Sanborn’s eyes filled with glad tears : 

“How thankful I am, my darling child ! 
I have been praying this long time that God 
would incline your heart to take this step.” 

The three friends, Mary, Ray and Alice 
— “ the devoted trio,” as Elsie called them — 
were strolling slowly homeward one Saturday 
afternoon arm in arm, Mary in the centre. 
They had been to rehearse the French dia- 


CONFESSING CHRIST. 


55 


logue and to go through the programme of 
the commencement exercises, that were to 
come off the first of the next week. They all 
felt a little quiet and sober at this breaking 
up of their pleasant school-life, especially as 
their plan for going away together now 
looked so doubtful. E-ay particularly was 
inclined to take a very sad view of things. 
They walked along in silence until Mary 
broke out : 

“ There is one thing that would partly rec- 
oncile me to staying at home another year : 
I would not have to part from my dear 
Miss Carter. I could go on studying some 
branches with her.” Then she added cheerily, 
“ Now, come, Alice ! You coax your mother 
to let you stay at home this winter. We 
three girls can just have a splendid time 
studying, painting and reading together. 
Would it not be delightful?” 

I might coax mother into consenting to 
such an arrangement — I can generally man- 
age her — but coaxing father would not be 
so easy. He will insist upon my going, I 
fear.” 

“ Well, perhaps we can all go ; so do not 


56 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


let US spoil our pleasure by borrowing 
trouble.” 

Then they branched off into a lively dis- 
cussion of the afternoon’s exercises, com- 
plimenting one another or encouraging Hay, 
who was always distrustful and timid. Hay 
and Alice agreed that Mary’s composition 
was ‘‘just lovely ” and her singing as “sweet 
as a bird’s.” Both girls had that nobleness 
of spirit and that true love for Mary that 
made them rejoice at her success, raising 
them above all the petty jealousy, so com- 
mon among schoolmates, of the one who car- 
ries off the honors. 

“ I shall go over my F rench dialogue once 
more to mother, with Elsie for audience. I 
always learn something from Elsie’s sharp 
criticisms; she gives me many hints on tones 
and gestures.” 

“ Elsie is a born actress ; she has real tal- 
ent in that line,” was Alice’s comment. 

“ I wish I had a mother or a sister to give 
me hints,” said Hay, sadly. 

“ Why, your mother understands French. 
I know she is finely educated ; why do you 
not recite to her?” inquired Mary. 


CONFESSING CHRIST. 57 

“ Recite to Mrs. Thatcher ? I never shall 
think of doing such a thing.” 

‘‘ Why, Ray ! How can you call your 
mother ‘ Mrs. Thatcher ’? She is good and 
kind ; if you would only trust her a little, 
you would both be happier.” 

Reproof from Mary was something new 
to Ray. 

‘‘ You never had a stepmother, Mary,” 
she said, in an injured tone. 

‘‘ I know it, Ray ; I did not mean to hurt 
your feelings. But you ought not to be 
prejudiced;” for Mary remembered her 
mother’s words. 

When they reached Ray’s gate, Mary 
said to Alice. 

“ You must go a little farther, for I have 
something special to tell you.” 

Ray guessed what that something was. 

Then Mary opened her heart to her 
friend, telling her of those feelings and 
hopes — those sacred things to which it was 
always so hard to refer before Alice. Mary 
had made up her mind that before they 
parted she must let Alice know of her faith 
in Christ and her purpose to acknowledge 


58 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


him before tlie world. It was a trial to her 
to do this, for she felt that she would have 
little sympathy from Alice, who was brought 
up in an atmosphere of irreligion ; yet she 
was hardly prepared for the ridicule with 
which her words were received : 

‘‘ You pious ! you religious ! Oh, Mary, 
it is too bad ! You are too full of fun to 
join any church ; the two don’t go together. 
It is well enough for Ray ; she is doleful, 
any way. Then she has had so much 
trouble I suppose it is some comfort to her. 
But for you — I cannot see why you want 
to be in the church. It will spoil all our 
pleasure; you might just as well put up a 
high fence between us two.” 

‘‘ I cannot see why it must separate us ; 
I shall not be any different. Mr. Abbott 
preached such a beautiful sermon lately ; he 
said, ‘ God wants all the young glad hearts. 
He wants them just as they are, with all 
their life and joy.’ I cannot remember the 
time when I did not love God and enjoy 
reading the Bible and prayer. Have I been 
so wicked, Alice, that you never imagined 
I loved him ?” 


CONFESSING CHRIST. 


59 


“ ‘ Wicked ’! No, indeed ! You are just 
as good as you can be — good enough without 
joining any church ; a great deal better, ac- 
cording to my way of thinking, than Ray, 
with her forlorn way. She is not perfect; 
see how she spoke of her stepmother.” 

“ You and I might not do any better if 
we were in her place.” 

‘‘ That is true ; I should be ugly, I think : 
it is as much as my own mother can do to 
manage me. But Ray makes so many pre- 
tensions ! These church-members always 
set themselves up to be better than any- 
body else; that’s what I do not like.” 

‘‘ You misjudge Ray ; she is very humble. 
No one professes to be better than others 
by joining the church. If one really loves 
God, do you think she ought to keep it a 
secret? Is it not cowardly to do that?” 

Alice did not reply ; her heart was full 
of anger and rebellion. 

The two walked on in silence until Alice 
broke out : 

‘‘Oh dear! our good times are all at an 
end. You will not want any more of my 
society if you are going to be religious.” 


60 


SUNSHINE iMARY. 


“ Dear Alice, you and I will be just as 
good friends as ever ; but of this you may 
be sure : until you are a Christian I shall 
never stop praying for you.” 

‘‘ Well, pray away, my Sunshine,” said 
Alice, in a softened tone, as they separated ; 
‘‘ but you will have a hard time making a 
Christian of me, I fear.” 


CHAPTEE IV. 

DELIVER US FROM EVIL. 

rpHAT evening Mary found her mother in 
bed sick with one of her worst nervous 
headaches. How careworn the thin face 
looked to Mary as she stooped and kissed 
the hot cheeks ! 

Oh, my poor tired little mother, I am 
glad it is Saturday night; to-morrow you 
can rest.’’ 

When Mary ran up to her room to put 
away her books, she discovered the secret 
of h'er mother’s flushed face. On the bed 
lay her beautiful white dress all finished, 
perfect in all its parts, so prettily, daintily 
made that Mary was delighted. It is just 
lovely,” she exclaimed, holding it up — a 
great deal handsomer even than Ray’s.” 
But the next thought — ‘‘Poor mother has 
stitched her very life into it” — took away 
all her pleasure in a moment. “ How selfish 


62 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


and proud I have been ! The old dress 
might have been fixed up to answer very 
well. Now mother has just made herself 
sick to please me. How persistent I am 
about anything I want ! Oh dear ! oh 
dear ! When shall I learn ?” But there 
was no time then to do any more thinking. 
Mary hurried down to see what she could do 
for her mother’s comfort. 

Now sing me a quieting little hymn, 
and I think I will fall asleep,” said Mrs. 
Sanborn, in the evening, after Mary had 
succeeded in relieving the pain. ‘‘ I am 
only sorry, dear, that you will have to sit 
up for Clarence ; he sometimes comes home 
late. Saturday evenings are his busiest of 
the week. Poor boy ! he is always so tired.” 

Oh, I have some studying I want to do ; 
the time will seem short.” 

Clarence always came home Saturday 
evening to spend Sunday. Mrs. Sanborn 
never failed of being up to welcome him, 
however late the hour. 

Mary opened the piano ; she and Elsie 
joined their clear young voices in the hymn 


DELIVER US FROM EVIL. 


63 


mother dear, Jerusalem,’’ Arthur add- 
ing to the sweetness with his childish notes. 
The voices of the girls blended and harmo- 
nized as only those of sisters can, Mary tak- 
ing the soprano, Elsie singing a rich alto. 

Oh the power of sweet sounds ! “ There 

is not a feeling or tone in the heart but 
to music ’tis known.” Especially is this 
true of sacred music. How it often hushes 
the troubled spirit to peace like a holy 
benediction ! 

By the time the hymn was finished Mrs. 
Sanborn had forgotten all care and sorrow 
in a beautiful dream. Again she saw the 
dear familiar faces she had missed so long, 
heard their voices like a strain of exquisite 
melody. Was it heaven or was it earth ? 
It did not matter where the trysting-place 
was, that unknown land of dreams : she was 
with the loved and the lost as really as she 
ever was in life. 

“ Hush ! mother is asleep,” said Mary, 
softly closing the door. 

Elsie ran out for a walk in the long June 
twilight and Arthur climbed into Mary’s 
lap. 


64 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


You will have to sleep with me to-night, 
little boy, instead of sleeping in mamma’s 
room,” said she. 

‘‘ I like to sleep with you, Mamie ; I won’t 
kick you one bit.” 

“ Oh no !” laughed Mary ; “ you never do, 
my pet.” 

“ Mamie, where does the sun go to bed ? 
He must want a good big bed. I guess he’s 
tired by night-time, he’s had such a long 
journey.” 

“ He never gets tired ; he can’t go to bed, 
for he has work to do : he has to shine on 
the moon and stars to keep them bright, so 
we can have light by night as well as by day. 
Who is it, Arthur, up in heaven who in the 
dead of the night keeps wide awake lest one 
of his children should cry ?” 

‘‘Oh, I know: that is God. He never 
sleeps, but takes care of us.” Then, coax- 
ingly, “ Now, Mamie dear, tell me a story all 
about it — about the sun and the moon and 
the little stars.” 

Then Marv commenced : 

ft/ 

“ One evening a bright little star stole out 
into the sky and found that she was the only 


DELIVER US EROM EVIL. 65 

one to be seen. She looked all around, but 
not another twinkler did she find ; she was 
all alone in that great blue space.’’ 

‘‘Oh! Just like that one up there,” 
exclaimed Arthur ; “ she’s the only one 
there is.” 

“ Yes, just like that one. — Then this little 
star began to feel very cross, and to think 
that it was very forlorn to hang there so 
lonely. She wondered why tlie rest — her 
companions — did not come. She grew very 
impatient. 

“ ‘ They will never come,’ she said. ‘ I 
cannot light this great world ; there is no 
use in my trying. My shining will not 
make any difference in all this darkness. 
I will not stay here alone ; I’ll go away ;’ 
so, turning her face from the sun, she hid 
herself out of sight. 

“All that night there was a vacant place 
where our little star ought to have been. 
Poor little star 1 She forgot that it was her 
duty to shine no matter what others did. It 
was all for want of a little patience, for soon 
after she hid away the twinklers began 
to appear, one after the other, until the 

5 


66 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


whole blue dome was full of little bright 
lamps, each one shining away, doing her 
very best to light the darkness. They were 
only a little behind time : that was all.” 

‘‘Oh ! Just as they come to-night. See! 
there are ever so many more, and they keep 
coming.” 

“ Down on the earth, in a poor attic-room, 
lay a little sick boy. Our star could shine 
right into his one small window with her 
soft golden light ; she was the only one that 
the poor child could see as he lay on his 
hard bed. He watched for her coming, 
calling her his star. He did not feel lonely 
after his beautiful star began to look into his 
eyes. Many nights when he could not sleep 
because of the pain he would lie awake in 
the darkness and talk to his star : 

“ ‘ I love you, dear little star. Don’t go 
away and leave me alone; you are all the 
company I have. The nights are so long 
and dark, but you make my room bright.’ 

“ Then he would throw a kiss to the star. 
All the answer the star gave was to twinkle, 
twinkle, brighter than ever. This made the 
little boy’s heart very glad. 


DELIVER US FROM EVIL. 67 

“ ‘ My star smiles at me and loves me/ he 
said. 

“But this night he watched in vain for 
his star; she did not come, as usual. The 
poor little fellow was heartbroken. 

“‘My dear little star will never come 
back ; she has gone and left me all alone,’’ 
he moaned, then cried himself to sleep. 

“ ‘ Oh, you naughty star !’ said the sun ; 
‘why did you hide your face? Why did 
you not shine? Shining is your business. 
Each star must be sure to keep her own 
light burning brightly, not watching the 
rest. Your little friend down on the earth 
has sadly missed you.’ 

“Then the little star felt very much 
ashamed and sorry. The next night she 
went back to her place, and ever since has 
been shining with a pure, clear light. The 
sick child clapped his hands with delight 
when he found that his friend — ‘ his bless- 
ed little star up in the sky ’ — was not lost 
for ever, but had come back to keep him 
company. And so every boy and girl, man 
and woman, must keep on shining every 
day, trying to make the world happier and 


68 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


brighter. If they stop for one moment, 
some poor heart will be sure to miss them. 
And now these brown eyes must drop their 
curtains; this little boy must go to bed.” 

How still and lonely the house seemed 
after Elsie and Arthur were in bed ! Mrs. 
Sanborn was sleeping quietly ; there was 
nothing to be heard but the ticking of the 
clock. But Mary was not timid. Soon she 
was so busily engaged with her studies that 
she thought of nothing else, until the mu- 
sical little timepiece on the mantel striking 
eleven reminded her that it was growing late 
and Clarence had not come. 

Mary closed her book, went to the window 
and looked out into the darkness. The sky 
had become overcast; there were no stars 
to be seen. The wind moaned around the 
house like the very spirit of unrest. Mary 
leaned out of the window and listened with 
a hushed, awestruck feeling, then repeated 
the lines : 


“ How solemn the night-wind I how mournful its tone I 
When all else is voiceless, it murmurs alone ; 

Like an old man all-weary, yet fearing to die. 

It whispers of heaven, oft breathing a sigh.’^ 


DELIVER US FROM EVIL. 69 

Suddenly there came over the young girl 
such a foreboding of coining evil that her 
heart almost stopped beating. 

‘‘ What if something dreadful should 
happen ? What if mother should die ?” she 
thought. “ How I wish Clarence would 
come 

But the brave girl laughed at her own 
fears. Putting up a quick little prayer to 
her heavenly Father, she lay down on the 
sofa for a short nap, sure that Clarence 
would soon be home, and that the sound 
made by his steps in coming up the gravel- 
walk would waken her. 

About two hours after, Mary was aroused 
from her sleep by a shuffling sound on the 
piazza, as if some one were fumbling for the 
door-knob. 

There is Clarence she exclaimed, 
springing to her feet. 

Hastening to the door, she unlocked and 
opened it — to admit whom ? Not Clarence, 
surely ! It could not be he who staggered in 
and leaned heavily against the wall, look- 
ing at her with strange, wild eyes and 
muttering unintelligible words. This sure- 


70 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


ly could not be her noble, handsome brother, 
whom she loved with all her heart, of whom 
she was so proud ? Ah ! but it was Clarence 
Sanborn in form and feature, his young man- 
hood thrown away, his soul — God’s image — 
marred and stupefied by strong drink. 

In a moment the fearful truth flashed into 
Mary’s mind: ‘‘It is Clarence; he is drunk.” 
It seemed so dreadful to her that she could 
hardly repress a scream of terror, but she 
remembered her mother. 

“You up. Sis? Where’s mother?” in 
maudlin tones. 

“ In bed, sick,” said Mary, softly. “ Let 
me help you up stairs.” 

“ Yes, help me ; a fellow needs help some- 
times. Those chaps would not come in,” he 
stammered. 

The young man who gloried in his physical 
power, who could catch up his mother or Mary 
in his muscular arms and carry her up stairs, 
was as weak and tottering as a baby. He 
was not ashamed to lean upon his delicate 
sister with almost crushing weight. His hot 
breath in her face, polluted with the fumes 
of liquor, sickened her and filled her with 


DELIVER US FROM EVIL. 71 

disgust. But, exerting all her strength, she 
succeeded in getting him up to his room and 
on his bed. How she did it she could not 
tell. Then she hurried down to close the 
house and see if her mother had wakened. 

“ Mary, has Clarence come ?” called Mrs. 
Sanborn. 

Yes, mother ; he is home and in bed.’’ 

My poor dear boy ! how tired he must 
be ! And you too, Mary. You are a good 
daughter.” 

Mary hastened away thankful that the 
room was dark, so that her mother could 
not see her pale face and quivering lip. 

Poor dear boy,” indeed ! Poor deceived 
mother ! You have wasted your pity. How 
could you imagine that your first-born, your 
best-beloved, your bright, handsome boy, 
could thus betray your confidence? Poor 
mothers, all over our land, who spend the 
hours of night watching, waiting and fearing 
the return of sons who may come with 
unsteady feet ! God alone knows your 
agony and your sorrow, your prayers and 
your tears. 

But what of the boys who thus torture 


72 


SUNSHINE 3IARY. 


these loving mother -hearts — those boys who 
deceive or trample under foot that sweetest, 
most unselfish thing on earth, true mother- 
love? What remorse must come to them 
some day when their eyes are open to see 
their cruelty — perhaps when it is too late 
for reparation ! The young man who looks 
into the face of a dead mother with the con- 
viction that his evil courses have shortened 
that dear life knows what poignant misery 
means. Can he ever rid himself of the 
bitter memory ? 

Never before had Clarence Sanborn come 
home intoxicated, but many times had his 
gay companions walked him around the 
streets until he was so fully himself that 
he could go into his mother’s presence 
without exciting her suspicions. For many 
months he had been spending his own and 
his mother’s money in ways that were sinful. 
Generous, full of life and fun, he was a great 
favorite with the young men of the town. 
He had allowed them to lead him on, hardly 
realizing whither he was tending. The first 
downward steps had been taken. Already 
was forming that fearful chain of appetite 


DELIVER US FROM EVIL. 


73 


which would soon bind him hand and foot, 
destroy his health and deaden all that was 
pure and good in his soul. The devil asks 
no better success than to be able securely to 
forge this chain around a young man ; then 
he feels almost certain of his victim, body 
and soul, for time and eternity. From this 
bondage no human power can set the pris- 
oner free. God alone can deliver. 

Once back in Clarence’s room, Mary 
found he had fallen into a heavy drunken 
sleep. With difficulty she pulled off his 
boots and did all she could to make him 
comfortable ; then she seated herself by his 
bedside to watch the sleeper. There, through 
the long hours that seemed like ages, she sat 
with wide-staring eyes and aching heart, face 
to face with this great shame and sorrow. 
She had heard and read of like trouble 
coming to happy families, but how this giant 
evil had found its way into their own ‘‘ little 
nest ’’and laid its hand upon their dearest 
one she could not understand. In her shel- 
tered home-life she had known very little of 
the sin in the world ; to her innocent spirit 
Clarence’s wrong-doing seemed something 


74 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


dreadful. He had been her ideal of all 
that was good and noble in a young man ; 
she had almost worshiped him. There he 
lay now — her idol — drunk. Her heart was 
fairly paralyzed by the greatness of the sor- 
row. At last the birds commenced their 
early-morning concert — ‘‘a riot of jocund 
song.” How many times had she wakened 
to listen to their wild chorus ! This morn- 
ing she hardly heard it, yet it seemed to 
rouse her from her stupor. 

“ What shall I do ? It will kill mother. 
I must not tell her,” she moaned. Then, 
flinging herself upon her knees beside the 
bed on which Clarence lay, through sobs 
and tears she commenced a low, broken 
prayer : “ O God, save my brother — my 

darling brother ! It will kill poor mother. 
We can never be happy again. Save him, 
O my Saviour, from sin and from death!” 
The floodgates were open now, and she 
poured out her soul in an agony of sup- 
plication. 

Clarence wakened from his sleep a sobered 
man ; with shame and distress he listened to 
the pleading voice. He realized all that had 



Saving her Brother 


Page 74 





DELIVER US FROM EVIL. 75 

happened. Like a flash from the divine 
Spirit there came into his soul a vision of 
his great guilt in God’s sight, his danger, 
the misery he was bringing upon those he 
so tenderly loved. He could bear it no lon- 
ger ; his own lips joined in the prayer : O 
God, save my soul ! Forgive me ! Break 
the tempter’s power !” 

‘‘ Have you been watching by me and 
praying for me all night, dear little sis- 
ter ?” Mary buried her face in the pillow. 

My poor little Sunshine ! Can you for- 
give me ? What a brute I have been ! 
This shall never happen again ; never, as 
long as I live, will I again come home in- 
toxicated.” 

Mary raised her tearful face, full now of 
an earnest purpose: 

“ Say, rather, ‘ Never, as long as I live, 
will I touch another drop.’ Promise me 
this, dear Clarence, and I will forget all 
about this sad night. Oh, promise me this, 
as you love me — as you love us all.” 

And then Clarence Sanborn made a sol- 
emn promise to Mary and to God. He 
hardly understood then how much it in- 


76 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


volved, but it was a heaven-recorded vow 
that was never broken. 

Then followed a long talk, in which the 
hearts of brother and sister were knit to- 
gether as never before. Admissions of 
weakness and confession of sin came from 
Clarence, words of strength and courage 
from Mary, until Clarence insisted that 
Mary should get a little sleep. She softly 
went to her own room. The blinds were 
open, as she had left them the previous 
evening ; the fresh air and the soft light 
of the early morning served to quiet her 
after all her excitement. How beautiful 
were the colors in the eastern sky, the won- 
derful glory of the coming day ! Mary 
dropped on her knees by the window ; with 
uplifted face and clasped hands she offered 
her tribute to her heavenly Father. 

That Sunday morning, as the Sanborn 
family gathered to a late breakfast, Mrs. 
Sanborn, pale but quite herself, looked in 
two rather haggard faces : 

“ Mary, you and Clarence must not go to 
church to-day ; you need rest.” 


DELIVER US FROM EVIL. 


77 


‘‘Oh, I must go this morning with Elsie 
and Arthur ; I cannot miss my Sunday- 
school. I can rest this afternoon. Clarence 
will stay with you. Let me go ; it will do 
me good for that morning she wanted 
Clarence to be left alone with his mother. 

Mary carried a joyful, grateful heart to 
the quiet church. The scenes of the past 
night seemed like a black cloud that had 
suddenly parted to let in the glorious light, 
like a heavy weight which had been sud- 
denly lifted from heart and brain. She be- 
lieved in God’s power to keep Clarence ; she 
did not torment herself with doubts and 
fears lest his newly-made pronise might be 
speedily broken. The sunshine that poured 
in through the stained-glass windows, the 
song of the birds outside, all nature’s sweet 
sounds, had but one message for her spirit : 
“Rejohje and be glad.” Yet she did not 
fully realize what had been wrought — that 
a soul had been saved from sin and from 
death, a loved brother’s feet turned from 
ways of peril to paths of safety, through her 
prayers and tears. She did not understand 
all that she had accomplished, under God, 


78 


SUNSHINE 3IARY. 


nor how fearful had been this crisis in Clar- 
ence’s life ; but it was all known in heaven. 
There was joy among the angels. 

At home the erring son opened his heart 
to the loving mother, making a sorrowful 
confession of all his wrong-doing, his sin 
and his guilt. All that passed between 
them that morning none but God ever 
knew. Clarence’s words to Mary — “ Our 
blessed little mother is one of the saints. 
God keep me from breaking her heart !” — 
showed her that the penitent son had been 
freely forgiven. Perhaps Mrs. Sanborn was 
too ready to excuse, for she had always been 
over-indulgent toward this her favorite child. 

Well was it for Clarence Sanborn that 
around him were thrown the powerful re- 
straining influences of such a mother and 
sister. Many young men have no such safe- 
guards — no tender, loving hearts to watch 
over them and to pray for them ; while 
some, alas ! with reproach look back to the 
time when they took the first glass from the 
hand of these dear ones. 

Beware, O idolizing mother, O fair young 
sister, how you use the sparkling wine — how 


DELIVER US FROM EVIL. 


79 


you offer it to the son or the brother, the 
pride of your hearts and your home ! Some 
day the result may be sorrow, misery and 
bitter regret. And if you dare not offer 
it to your own, surely you will not commit 
the crime of tempting other sons and other 
brothers into the ways of peril I 


CHAPTER V. 


SUNSHINE AND CLOUD 

Mary Sanborn ! How lovely you 
^ do look in your new white dress ex- 
claimed Elsie, rushing into the room where 
Mary was dressing for commencement even- 
ing. ‘‘ Queen Mary, I salute thee !” with a 
mock bow. “ You do look too nice for any- 
thing. You could not have imagined your- 
self looking any handsomer if you had 
dreamed it all out — as I know you have,” 
she added, with a sly glance. 

Mary colored at this home- thrust : 

‘‘Well, if I have, I am punished for my 
vanity. Mother made herself sick over 
this dress, and now she cannot go to the 
entertainment.” 

“ Fie ! donT you worry about that. If 
mother had not been sewing for you, she’d 
have been working at something else. It 
is too bad she cannot go, but she’ll be better 
80 


SUNSHINE AND CLOUD. 81 

in a day or two. Now, if I could look half 
as pretty as you do, I’d be as vain as a pea- 
cock. Your dress would be just complete 
if you only bad a nice sasb — not a common 
lutestring, but a real elegant satin one.” 

Elsie’s rattling comments were interrupted 
by the entrance of Mrs. Sanborn with the 
identical article in her band — a handsome 
blue sash. 

‘‘Oh, mother, what made you get it?” 
from Mary, reproachfully. “ My dress has 
cost you too much without that.” 

“ I did not get it,” smiled Mrs. Sanborn ; 
“ Clarence sent it. Some little bird must 
have told him you needed one.” 

Elsie danced around in delight, helping 
Mary to arrange the sash gracefully. 

“ When you get your nosegays fastened 
on, you’ll be just perfect. How proud 
Clarence will be of his sister to-night !” 

“ He ought to be,” said Mrs. Sanborn, 
with a tender glance at Mary ; “ he may 
well love his little sister.” 

The tears came to Mary’s eyes : 

“Oh, mother, he is a good, noble boy.” 

“ Now, don’t you two go to getting up a 
6 


82 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


scene ; Mnry will spoil her good looks if she 
goes to whimpering. Come !” giving one 
of Mary’s curls a sharp pull ; it is time 
to be going.” 

‘‘Mother has taken a dreadful cold; she 
is so hoarse and her hands are so hot that 
I fear she is going to have a spell of sick- 
ness,” said Mary as the two girls went down 
the walk. 

“ Nonsense, May ! Do stop your croaking. 
Think of something pleasant. Do you know 
that Eugene Thatcher is home from col- 
lege?” 

“ No ; is he ? When did he come ?” 

“Ah ! I thought I’d wake up Your Lady- 
ship. I don’t know when he came, but I 
saw him this afternoon ; he managed to get 
here just in time. So do your very best, 
Queen Mary ; you’ll have one attentive 
listener. Likely he’ll be walking home 
with us, and I’ll be so in the way ! but I’ll 
go with Ray as fiir as she comes.” 

“ What nonsense you do talk, Elsie ! Clar- 
ence is coming home with us to-night.” 

“ Clarence ? How is that ? He must have 
a new gift.” 


SUNSHINE AND CLOUD. 


83 


‘‘ Oh, Elsie, do not speak of him in that 
way/’ 

“Where is the harm? I think just as 
much of him as you do, and am just as proud 
of him as can be; but you know very well that 
he has not bothered himself to go home with 
us in months. He always has so many friends 
in waiting — so many engagements. If he 
comes to-night, it must be because you have 
been giving him a moral lecture such as you 
give me sometimes.” 

“ What possesses you to-night, Elsie ?” 

“Some imp, I suppose. Next fall I am 
going to your school, and two years from 
now I’ll be speaking some tragic piece that 
will scare the people out of their wits and 
from off their seats.” 

Mary let Elsie run on, but she was think- 
ing of Clarence and his escape from the 
snares of the tempter. Happy, thankful 
thoughts they were. It was well that she did 
not know that even then poor Clarence was 
struggling with temptations against which his 
own puny strength was like a wisp of straw. 
Mary felt very glad that Elsie knew nothing 
of his sin ; she was sure that the sight of him 


84 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


as he was on Saturday night would have turned 
all Elsie’s admiration into enduring contempt 
and disgust. 

What hope would there be for humanity 
if God spurned the sinner from him as the 
nearest friends sometimes do ? The wide- 
ness of God’s mercy,” his infinite pity, 
tenderness and love toward the most guilty, 
even his dear children are slow to under- 
stand. There is not one poor erring soul 
over which Christ does not grieve. 

The closing exercises in such a school 
as that which Mary Sanborn attended are 
always interesting to those who love young 
girls — more so, perhaps, than where the 
pupils are older, for in these preparatory 
schools you see but the budding promise of 
what is to be ; you find yourself watching 
for signs of latent genius or character. In 
trying to solve the mystery of girlhood there 
is a charm which is wanting where talents 
and personality are more developed and 
decided. You study over each fair young 
face, wondering what may be hidden in heart 
and mind, and what the future of each may 


SUNSHINE AND CLOUD. 


85 


reveal. And these earlier school-days are, 
in one sense, the happiest of all. To a 
young girl just entering the ‘‘temple of 
science’’ everything looks invitingly attract- 
ive and beautiful : the difficulties in the way 
are not realized ; but as she advances in 
knowledge and sees how limitless is the 
field the prospect is discouraging. The hard 
study necessary for great attainments some- 
what dulls the first enthusiasm. Yet in the 
more mature search for truth there is a solid 
pleasure and satisfaction which the youthful 
student can hardly imagine. 

And is not the same true of the joy of 
living? Often we hear the young told, 
“These are your best, your happiest, days; 
enjoy them to the full, for all too soon 
will come care and trouble.” Come they will, 
to be sure ; but with them will come, also, to 
God’s loving, obedient child, a rest and peace, 
an abiding happiness, with which the pleas- 
ures of youth cannot compare — a blessedness 
that will deepen and brighten as the heaven- 
ly land is neared. Happiness is not the 
peculiar heritage of youth ; it is God’s 
sweet' gift to the trustful heart at any age. 


86 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


So, dear young girls, quaff the cup of joy 
in all its freshness ; be glad and rejoice in 
ail the beauty and glory of the world around 
you : this is your right. But be assured that 
there is a still better inheritance in store for 
you in future years as you learn new lessons 
of God’s love and gain new insight into 
God’s providence and grace. Love God 
and thy fellow-men. Love and study God’s 
wonderful works ; trust in him, rest in him, 
and then shall thy heart keep young, thy 
joy be ever increasing until that life begins 
which is not measured by years. 

In the audience that evening there was 
one pair of eyes that watched Mary closely ; 
to its owner she appeared the embodiment 
of all that is sweet and good. That pair 
belonged to her brother Clarence. There 
may have been another pair busied in the 
same way, with the like result : of that we 
are not certain. To Clarence the pet sister, 
who had seemed to him even younger than 
she was, had been suddenly transformed into 
another being — one clothed with a moral 
power, a strength and courage, that he never 


SUNSHINE AND CLOUD. 


87 


dreamed of her possessing. Listening to her 
voice as she stood there 'in lier fleecy wliite 
dress, her face surrounded with its halo of 
golden hair, he wondered if she were not 
sent to be his good angel. All the man 
within him rose up to assert itself : ‘‘ I will 
never break my promise to that little sister — 
never again grieve that little heart as I did 
Saturday night.’’ And Mary’s eyes sought 
out Clarence. She rejoiced to see that he 
was with Eugene Thatcher, for she knew 
that Eugene was an earnest Christian, and 
that his influence over Clarence must be 
only for good. As she glanced over the 
audience Mary caught sight of another 
witching face : a comical look and gesture 
from Elsie nearly upset her gravity. 

“All passed off beautifully,” as the girls 
declared. Indeed, it was a lovely sight. 
The flutter of ribbons and laces, the bright 
eyes, the flowers, the fresh, smiling faces that 
were lifted as bouquets were thrown by 
friends, — all helped to form a pretty pict- 
ure not soon to be forgotten. 

Mary’s composition closed the evening’s 
programme. A few earnest words at the 


88 


SUNSmNE MARY. 


end, expressing her own purpose to serve 
the Master and appealing to lier classmates 
to make a like consecration, delighted Ray, 
but brought a frown over Alice’s bright 
face. 

‘‘ Mary Sanborn’s composition was beau- 
tiful, only a little too dreamy and poetic; 
but that is a fault that years will correct. 
She is like her father,” was the remark of 
an old acquaintance of the family. 

Several of the young girls had finished 
the prescribed course of study and were 
fitted to enter a higher school. To them 
Mr. Abbott addressed a few parting words, 
giving them food for reflection to carry with 
them to their homes. In Mary especially 
he felt a tender interest. A conversation 
which he had had with her was still fresh 
in his mind — one in which she had ex- 
pressed to him her love for Christ. 

With many farewells and promises of 
eternal friendship the merry company of 
girls scattered to their homes, some of them 
not expecting again to meet in the old fa- 
miliar rooms. Who could imagine what 
was in store for those young hearts ? But, 


SUNSHINE AND CLOUD. 


89 


as Mr. Abbott said, over each life is the 
guidance and care of infinite Love.” 

Tlie last day of June ! I am sixteen to- 
day,” exclaimed Mary as she bounded out 
of bed and threw open the blinds. ‘‘ What 
a beautiful morning ! How glad I am for 
such a perfect birthday !” 

Perfect it certainly was. A shower the 
night before had left the pearly drops on 
tree and shrub ; everything glistened and 
sparkled in the early sunshine: Nature 
had decked herself with diamonds. The 
sweet perfume of flowers stole into the 
room; the birds sang gloriously. Mary 
could hardly keep from joining the joyous 
chorus and bursting o.ut into a happy song, 
but she remembered the sleeping household. 
‘‘ If I only had wings,” she thought, ‘‘ I 
would be there in the trees among them 
and singing with all my might.” Her heart 
sang joyfully all the while she was dressing, 
and her feet beat time to the imaginary mu- 
sic. Then, with her Testament and journal 
— for Mary kept a journal — she drew up her 
little table by the window and seated herself 


90 


SUNSHINE 31 A BY. 


to do some reading and thinking. The 
sights and sounds of the outer world were 
distracting; it was some time before she 
could quiet down to sober thought. 

Mary wanted to commence her new year 
with some good resolutions. She had fully 
decided to confess Christ at communion 
the next Sabbath. Wise Mr. Abbott had 
shown her that God did not require a sober 
face, that he wanted her young heart as it 
was — full of joyous life and innocent mirth. 

“Jesus has a place for you among his peo- 
ple,’’ Mr. Abbott had said ; “ he has a work 
for you to do. The Church is his garden, 
where the young plants have tenderest care. 
He longs to see you safely within the en- 
closure; so come and be welcome.” 

Mary’s heart had responded gladly : “ I 
will come.” But she knew that though not 
a sad it was a solemn step to take. This 
morning — her birthday — she wanted to ask 
herself what there was in her life that a 
Christian ought to renounce: 

“ This incessant day-dreaming mother 
says is wrong, but how can I give it up? 
Is it wrong? These dreams are often so 


SUNSHINE AND CLOUD. 


91 


beautiful, so perfectly harmless — just lovely 
pictures/’ 

‘‘ But is not the heroine of many of them 
your own dear self — the wonderful things 
you are going to say, do or attain ?” whis- 
pered conscience. 

‘‘ Yes, that is certainly true,” was Mary’s 
honest reply ; “ so then they tend to make 
me ambitious, proud and vain. Then mother 
says they make me negligent of duties, for- 
getful of others: that is selfish. I fear that 
is true ; for when I get into one of my 
reveries, I am oblivious to everything. Let 
me see : pride, vanity, negligence, selfishness. 
What a list ! Alas for my precious castles 
in Spain ! I fear they are condemned.” 

In a plain hand she wrote out this res- 
olution for the coming year: 

I do this morning resolve to guard against 
day-dreaming this year, lest it foster pride, 
vanity, negligence and selfishness.” 

Mary thoughtfully read this over with the 
feeling that much had been accomplished. 
As a specimen of penmanship it was cer- 
tainly very neat, but beyond that of little 
worth, unless God’s strength were given to 


92 


SUNSHINE MARY, 


help her keep the promise. It is so easy to 
write out such good resolutions ! A few 
strokes of the pen and the work is done, 
we think. We soon learn how readily they 
are forgotten, how hard to fulfill. To Mary, 
on that bright June morning, her heart over- 
flowing with love and happiness; it seemed 
very easy to deny herself for Jesus’ sake. 
She hardly realized how much she needed 
divine assistance. 

Mary had never given up her hope of 
re-entering school in the fall. Sometimes 
she thought she was willing to do so if it 
should be necessary ; but, with her usual 
persistency, she found herself constantly 
returning to her plan with renewed deter- 
mination. Elsie’s words were certainly true : 
“ Mary sticks to a thing everlastingly.” Now 
that vacation had come, not being occupied 
with her studies, her busy brain was teeming 
with schemes. Her pet one was the revision 
and publication of her father’s manuscript. 
She was full of hope, picturing to herself 
the wonderful success of the book. In this 
she was not wholly selfish, for she felt sure 
that it would bring honor to the loved name 


SUNSHINE AND CLOUD. 


93 


as well as pecuniary help to themselves. 
The great obstacle in the way was her 
mother’s frail health. Her sad, discouraged 
look the night before, as she almost whis- 
pered the words, ‘‘ My dear child, do try to 
give that all up for the present,” came 
vividly to Mary’s mind in that quiet hour 
devoted to thinking. “ I am selfish ; I 
make mother unhappy. Why do I not 
trust God ? He can open the way if it is 
best for me to go,” was her conclusion after 
a searching look into her own heart. This 
was the second resolution recorded in her 
diary : 

Resolved, To guard against willfulness — 
to be ready to follow God’s will, and not my 
own.” 

A difficult task was finished; the journal 
was laid aside for that morning. With a 
relieved feeling Mary gladly took up her 
Testament to read her usual chapter. In her 
regular course that morning came the account 
of the Transfiguration. Mary read it over 
and over; never before had it seemed so 
wonderful, so beautiful. The whole scene 
stood out before her with the vividness and 


94 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


reality of a fine picture — the transcendent 
glory of the Saviour’s face ; his shining 
garments white as snow as he talked with 
Moses and Elias ; the bowed, awestruck 
disciples; the overshadowing cloud. Then 
she seemed to hear the voice : ‘‘ This is my 
beloved Son.” It filled her heart with an 
ecstasy of sacred joj^ Suddenly came the 
thought, “This is day-dreaming: surely this 
cannot be wrong ?” No, Mary, no ! Such 
a power of imagination is one of God’s most 
blessed gifts ; it only needs to be sanctified 
and controlled. All through the duties and 
trials of that day the morning’s vision was 
in Mary’s heart ; many times it returned to 
her, bringing with it renewed strength and 
increased comfort. 

Mary’s hour with God closed with an 
earnest prayer full of joy and thanksgiving. 
In it were loving petitions for Clarence ; not 
a prayer had she offered since that sorrow- 
ful night in which he had been forgotten. 
He was to come home to dinner that day to 
celebrate “ Mary’s day so Mary was plan- 
ning to have everything dainty and nice for 
his sake. 


SUNSHINE ANT) CLOUD. 


95 


Just as Mary was ready to leave her room 
Elsie burst in : 

‘‘ Oh, hail ye, Sweet Sixteen ! How do 
you find yourself this morning? People 
that can afford to be so old must take the 
consequences/’ 

Then Elsie commenced a round of slaps 
that made Mary’s shoulders tingle. In the 
merry, laughing struggle that followed Elsie’s 
strong muscles won the day, as usual, until 
Mary had received her full quota — her 
‘‘ penalty for being sixteen.” 

On the stairs Mary met Arthur : 

“ Mamma’s sick — oh, so sick ! She wants 
you right off.” 

Mary hurried down, to find her mother in 
a high fever. 

“ I have coughed nearly the whole night, 
and am so weak this morning that I shall be 
obliged to keep my bed ; you will have to 
send Elsie for the doctor,” whispered Mrs. 
Sanborn. 

“Oil, mother, mother! Why did you not 
call me sooner ? I am so sorry — so very 
sorry — that you must be sick to-day.” 

“So am I, my dear child; I wanted to 


96 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


make the day such a pleasant one to you. 
Now I fear it will be a hard and busy one. 
You must send for Nellie and do the best 
you can/’ taking Mary’s face between her 
two hands and kissing her lovingly. 

Oh, I’ll get along nicely ; do not worry 
about me, dear mother. When good Dr. 
Mason comes, he will soon quiet this cough 
and give you something to make you 
stronger,” said the daughter, with a sunny 
smile. If we only had sent for him some 
days ago ! It is too bad.” 

“ Yes, that I ought to have done, but I 
hated to give up and be sick.” 

Mary soon started Elsie off for the doctor, 
and then busied herself in doing all she 
could for her mother. After putting the 
room in order, she found time to run out 
and gather a few fresh flowers to lay on the 
pillow, where her mother could enjoy them. 

Soon Dr. Mason’s old-fashioned gig ap- 
peared at the gate, and Elsie sprang out, 
followed by the doctor. Where she had 
been stowed away Mary could hardly im- 
agine. 

‘‘ I caught him in the very nick of time; 


SUNSHINE AND CLOUD. 


97 


he was just starting out of town to see a 
sick patient,” were Elsie’s words as she 
rushed the portly man into the house. 

‘‘Yes, she has hurried me up this walk 
until I cannot find my breath,” laughed Dr. 
Mason. 

The children had all known dear Dr. 
Mason, with his genial, happy face, from 
babyhood; they loved him like a father. 
Through all her troubles Mrs. Sanborn had 
found him a true friend. 

It was a very sober face that Dr. Mason 
brought out of Mrs. Sanborn’s room that 
morning : 

“ Your mother is very sick indeed : she 
has lung-fever. We must immediately have 
some one to take care of her.” 

“Oh, I can take care of her; I will give 
her the best of care.” 

“Yes, little Mary, I know; but in such a 
critical case it needs some one with ex- 
perience. Cousin Sallie must come.” 

A frightened, despairing face looked up 
at him : 

“ Oh, please do not let her come.” 

“ Why not, pray ? You must have some 

7 


98 


SUNSHINE 3TARY. 


one; I know of no better nurse. Sickness 
brings a great deal of care and trouble into 
a house ; you do not yet know much about 
trouble, child.” 

I will be likely to know, if Cousin Sallie 
comes.” 

‘‘ Cousin Sallie is not an ogre ; she will 
not eat you. Your mother thinks, with me, 
that I had better stop and tell her to come 
at once.” 

The light had all gone out of Mary’s face 
during this conversation. 

“ Dr. Mason,” she exclaimed, grasping his 
hand impetuously, “ is poor mother going to 
die?” 

“ Why, child, I hope not ; God knows. I 
trust that, with God’s blessing. Cousin Sallie 
and I can bring her safely through. You 
must keep up a good heart, little girl.” 
Then, with some minute directions about 
medicine and care, he hurried away, promis- 
ing to call again in a few hours. 

Mary found no time for doleful thought : 
the doctor’s orders gave her plenty to do. 
Then there was their own breakfast to be 
prepared and the morning’s work to be done. 


SUNSHINE AND CLOUD. 


99 


Elsie took bold with a will and Arthur lent 
a helping hand. As Mary flitted in and 
out of her mother’s room, she longed to 
beg her to let them care for her and keep 
Cousin Sallie far away ; but the doctor’s 
words about experience being necessary 
in such a critical case kept her silent : 
her mother’s hard breathing and cough 
filled Mary with alarm. 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE CLOUDS DEEPEN. 

T he dreaded cousin Sallie was a distant 
relative of the family on the Sanborn 
side — a plain, blunt, practical woman, but 
with a warm heart and a natural aptitude for 
taking care of the sick. She had often vis- 
ited in the house, but had never been a fa- 
vorite with Mrs. Sanborn until in times of 
sickness and death she had learned what a 
helpful, sympathizing friend Cousin Sallie 
could be. Living by herself very inde- 
pendently in a little home of her own not 
far from town, she was ever ready to go 
where there was suffering or want. Through 
her watchful care many lives had been slow- 
ly nursed back to health and usefulness. 

Yet it must be confessed that Cousin 
Sallie, with her sharp eyes, and her sharper 
voice and tongue, was on the outside a good 
deal like a chestnut-burr. The most of her 


100 


THE CLOUDS DEEPEN. 101 

acquaintances were afraid of getting their 
fingers pricked, and so never found out what 
a sound, sweet kernel there was within. 
Only those who saw her transformed into 
gentleness in the sick-room understood her 
good qualities. God knew how much there 
had been in her life to embitter and harden 
her heart ; if the world had known, it might 
have wondered that there was one soft spot 
left. 

Between Cousin Sallie and Mary, the 
sensitive, imaginative girl, there was a nat- 
ural antagonism. Mary could never forget 
a conversation she was once so unfortunate 
as to overhear between her mother and 
Cousin Sallie. 

‘‘ What are you ever going to do with that 
Mary of yours, with all her dreaming, scrib- 
bling nonsense ? What will she ever be 
good for? What will she make?’’ 

“A noble Christian woman, I hope,” very 
quietly from Mrs. Sanborn. 

Perhaps she may, but I have my doubts. 
She’s a vain, proud little minx, too, always 
dressing herself up so fine, decking herself 
out with posies as if she were better than 


102 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


other girls. Her mind’s always off on some 
foolish thing or other ; she never seems to 
know what she’s about. Now, Elsie’s got 
some snap in her ; she’ll make something 
in the world, I venture.” 

‘‘So will Mary, in a different way,” was 
Mrs. Sanborn’s reply. 

“Perhaps she may, but I do say I hate 
such transcendental young ones.” Cousin 
Sallie liked to use a big word occasionally as 
much as the colored people do. 

Mary slipped away with burning cheeks 
and eyes full of scalding tears to hide her- 
self in the garden for a good cry. After 
that she dreaded Cousin Sallie’s frequent 
visits, and when she came took every possible 
means of keeping out of sight of those pier- 
cing black eyes. She magnified Cousin Sal- 
lie’s dislike and contempt for her until, to 
her distorted imagination, this disagreeable 
cousin appeared to be the very personifica- 
tion of all that was hateful and unkind. 

In an incredibly short time after Dr. 
Mason’s summons Cousin Sallie arrived at 
the cottage, ready for service and showing 
little signs of weariness after her long walk 


THE CLOUDS DEEPEN. 


103 


ill the hot sun. Immediately commenced 
what seemed to Mary a reign of terror. 
Even the favorite, Elsie, took something of 
the same view : 

‘‘Well! Cousin Sallie’s come, and she’s 
come to reign ; we might as well vanish up 
the chimney. We have no more right in 
this house: that is evident. Don’t you 
think so, Mary?” 

To which remark Mary most heartily as- 
sented. 

The first move was to banish them all 
from their mother’s room and from that part 
of the house. Arthur’s crib and all his be- 
longings were transferred to Mary’s sanctum. 
“ We are to have perfect quiet,” proclaimed 
Cousin Sallie; but she did not explain to 
the girls that Dr. Mason had insisted that 
this was absolutely necessary. 

Cousin Sallie’s keen, practiced eye saw at 
once that Mrs. Sanborn was a very ill wo- 
man — that, as the good doctor had said, 
“ there was no time to be lost.” She acted 
accordingly. Mary saw her catch up the 
fragrant blossoms that lay on her mother’s 
pillow and scornfully toss them out of the 


104 


SUNSHINE 3IARY. 


window. Only a beseeching look from 
Mrs. Sanborn restrained Mary from break- 
ing into indignant exclamations. Another 
thing that Mary noticed before she left 
the room was the tenderness with which 
Cousin Sallie spoke to the sick one; the 
usually harsh voice was soft and quieting. 
How gently she raised Mrs. Sanborn ! how 
deftly she arranged the pillows! in every 
motion showing the skill of a true nui*se. 
Already a relieved expression had stolen 
over the dear mother’s face. 

‘^She will give motlier the very best 
care,” thought Mary ; “ so I will try and be 
patient.” Yet she dreaded to see Cousin Sal- 
lie coming into the dining-room or kitchen 
with her sharp, domineering words and 
ways : “ Get me this ” or “ Hand me that.” 

“ Please ” and “ Thank you” did not exist 
in Cousin Sallie’s vocabulary. Evidently 
she did not intend to waste anything on 
the rest of the household, but reserved all 
her sweetness and gentleness for the one 
in need. 

To Mrs. Sanborn the presence of strong, 
capable Cousin Sallie was a godsend. The 


THE CLOUDS DEEPEN. 


105 


frail little mother had kept up until the last 
moment; the anxiety and the overwork of 
many months had so exhausted her strength 
that she had little vitality left with which to 
cope with disease. When once she gave up 
the long struggle, she was astonished to find 
how weak she was, how willing and glad to 
rest and to be cared for by loving hands. 

Soon Dr. Mason returned from his ride in 
the country, and he and Cousin Sal lie had a 
long consultation. Mary knew, from the ex- 
pression of their faces, that they considered 
her mother alarmingly ill, but her hopeful 
spirit looked forward to speedy recovery. 

Clarence came home to the birthday 
dinner, bringing some little gifts for Mary, 
to be sorely disappointed and shocked by 
the state of things at ‘‘ The Nest.” He was 
going directly to his mother’s room, but was 
met by Cousin Sallie with her decided “No 
admittance!” although her manner was a 
little mollified toward the tall, handsome 
young man. 

Mary strove to make the meal a pleasant 
one, talking cheerfully and hopefully, while 
Elsie tried to entertain Clarence with her 


106 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


drollery, being sure to make her wittiest 
speeches when Cousin Sallie was in the 
room. Elsie knew that she was the favorite; 
she knew that all her bright sayings would 
be fully appreciated by shrewd Cousin Sallie. 
But through it all Clarence sat silent and 
despondent. When he started for business, 
Mary followed him to the gate. 

‘‘ Mary, if anything happens to mother — 
If she dies, I have killed her,” he said, 
sadly. 

“ Oh, Clarence, she will not die : God will 
not take her away from us; but if that 
great sorrow should come, you will not be to 
blame.” 

. ‘‘Mary, you don’t know anything about 
it. See what a burden she has been carry- 
ing all this time. I was the oldest ; I might 
have helped her in so many ways, but I did 
not do it. I was selfish and blind. What a 
wicked fool I have been !” Promising to 
return at night, he strode rapidly down the 
street, leaving Mary with a heavy heart. 

And now over the once happy home 
there settled down the quiet and gloom that 
dangerous illness ever brings. Oh, the fear 


THE CLOUDS DEEPEN. 


107 


and the dread, the uncertainty of what may 
come, which is all so hard to bear ! 

Cousin Sallie bustled in and out of the 
kitchen, but always closing the doors very 
softly, doing all that good, faithful nursing 
could do. Mary waited on her patiently in 
spite of rather tart replies given to all 
questions about the sick mother. 

Elsie took Arthur out for a walk. The 
long summer afternoon wore slowly away; it 
would have been a fearfully sad one to Mary 
but that she found several opportunities of 
slipping up to her room and telling Jesus all 
her anxiety, coming down with such a quiet, 
happy face that Cousin Sallie was astonished. 
The joy of the morning-hour that Mary had 
spent there in her chamber hardly seemed to 
belong to the same day, yet its peace was 
still in her heart. It was Mary who kept 
the fire burning and the water hot ; Mary 
who stood ready to do anything that was 
necessary. Before the day ended Cousin 
Sallie could not but admit to herself that the 
girl she had thought so worthless was exceed- 
ingly handy, thoughtful and lielpful. 

Dr. Mason came again in the evening, 


108 


SUNSHINE MAEY. 


staying in the sick-room a long time. Clar- 
ence too came home. The little group gath- 
ered in the dining-room, talking in low 
tones, waiting yet fearing to hear the doc- 
tor’s report. When he appeared, his sober 
face was discouraging. To Clarence’s ques- 
tion, How is mother to-night ?” the reply 
was, ‘‘Very, very sick.” 

“ Doctor, do you consider her dangerously 
ill ?” 

“ I certainly do ; she has been dangerously 
ill for days, keeping up as she has until the 
very last moment. I wonder you children 
did not notice. She ought to have been in 
bed a week ago. She has the courage and 
the fortitude of a martyr, but a string that 
is so overstrained must snap some day. It 
is high time some of these burdens were 
shifted to younger shoulders.” 

Dr. Mason looked sharply at Clarence, for 
he had some disagreeable suspicions that the 
young man’s life liad not been all correct — 
certainly, that Mrs. Sanborn, in all her diffi- 
culties, had not received much help from her 
oldest child. 

But when the good doctor saw the sorrow 


THE CLOUDS DEEPEN. 


109 


and dismay on all their faces, his kind heart 
relented : 

“Well, well, dear children, we must not 
be discouraged ; Cousin Sallie is a host in 
herself. We will do the best we can ; then 
we must trust God for the rest. I hope the 
dear little mother can stay a few years longer 
with her chicks.’^ With many other cheering 
words, he left them quite comforted, promis- 
ing to hold himself in readiness to come to 
them at any time during the night if Cousin 
Sallie thought it necessary to send Clarence 
after him. 

Poor little Arthur was heartbroken when, 
begging piteously that he might “kiss mamma 
good-night,’’ he had been refused by Cousin 
Sallie in her most peremptory manner. The 
little fellow had always been delicate, never 
growing tall and strong like other children 
of his age ; he had always clung to his 
mother, and was her pet and constant com- 
panion when the others were at school. To 
be kept so long from her room now was 
almost too much to bear; his loving heart 
was sorely grieved. But Mary told him 
her prettiest stories and sang to him her 


110 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


sweetest songs, until she succeeded in sooth- 
ing him to sleep. 

About ten o’clock Cousin Sallie came out 
to where Clarence, Mary and Elsie were 
sitting quiet and sorrowful, and informed 
them that they must all go to bed : 

‘‘ I intend to do the watching ; this house 
must be perfectly still.” 

Clarence and Mary objected most deci- 
dedly, but Cousin Sallie was inexorable : 

“ I will call you if I want your help.” 

Some time after this Cousin Sallie came 
into the sitting-room and found Mary lying 
on the sofa : 

‘‘ Why, Mary Sanborn ! What on earth 
are you doing here ? I thought I told you 
to go to bed.” 

I am going to sleep here all night,” said 
Mary, very positively. 

Cousin Sallie looked amazed : 

“ Now, that beats all ! But I suppose 
you’ll do what you set out to, like all other 
spoiled girls;” and Mary stayed. 

Mrs. Sanborn was under the influence of 
opiates: ‘‘she must sleep,” the doctor had 
said. Sometimes she would be roused by 


THE CLOUDS DEEPEN. 


Ill 


a severe fit of coughing- or when Cousin 
Sallie made a fresh application, but she was 
too sick and weak to worry about anything 
or to ask any questions. Yet several times 
there came to her the thought — a momen- 
tary consciousness — that death might be 
very near. 

‘‘Would I be ready for the call?’’ she 
asked herself. 

“Jesus is mine, and I am his,” came the 
answer. 

Then there stole into her heart a great 
peace as for an instant she realized that 
there might be only a little space between 
herself and the beloved ones who had gone 
before. 

To many of us, when in health and 
strength, death seems like such a fearful 
change — a leap into the darkness, a perilous 
journey, the crossing of a swelling, danger- 
ous river. Our whole being, soul and body, 
shrinks back at the thought. We wonder 
if the hour can bring us dying grace, dying 
courage. Yet to many spirits in times of 
sickness, when flesh and heart seemed to be 
failing, the veil has been lifted, the gate left 


112 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


ajar, so that they have caught a glimpse of 
the glory within, of the outstretched arms 
of the loving Saviour, so ready to receive. 
They found the ‘‘ far-away country ” was 
very near: only a step between them and 
heaven. If restored to life and health, can 
a soul ever forget such an experience — ever 
return to its old fears and forebodings? 

Through the long night-watches Mary 
lifted up many prayers, waking up quite 
often as Cousin Sallie passed through the 
room, then sinking into a troubled sleep. 
Toward morning she was aroused by a call : 
‘‘ Mary In an instant she was in her 
mother’s room. Mrs. Sanborn, after a severe 
fit of coughing, in which Cousin Sallie had 
raised her from the pillow, suddenly grew 
faint. Cousin Sallie, in her alarm, was glad 
of Mary’s assistance. The patient was soon 
restored, and Mary was rewarded by a sweet 
smile and a pressure of the hand. 

Mary had accomplished her object: she 
had gained a foothold in her mother’s room. 
From that room she did not intend again to 
be banished. How blessed it did seem to 
stand by the bed and softly stroke the 


THE CLOUDS DEEPEN. 


113 


brown hair, now threaded with gray ! She 
was astonished to find how feeble her moth- 
er had grown in so short a time. 

Mary had been there but a moment, 
happy in the consciousness of being near 
the loved one, when Cousin Sallie called 
her out and whispered, 

‘‘ Tell Clarence to go for the doctor ; your 
mother is a great deal worse. I want Dr. 
Mason just as soon as possible.’’ 

Now followed days and nights of terrible 
anxiety, when the precious life hung on a 
thread. Several times had death come to 
that home, but never to call one who would 
be so sadly missed as this beloved mother. 
Could she be spared ? What a blank would 
the world be to those children without her 
presence ! Kind friends came and went, 
bringing sympathy and help. The voice of 
God’s messenger was heard daily in the 
house speaking words of prayer or comfort, 
sometimes in the sick-room, often to the 
sorrowing family. But no human power 
could lift the cloud that hung over their 
lives, threatening to turn the light of that 
happy home into darkness, 
s 


114 


SUNSHINE 3TARY. 


Cousin Sallie stood guard at Mrs. San- 
born’s door. Except Mr. Abbott, no one 
was admitted — not even the most intimate 
friend; for Dr. Mason had said, ‘‘It all 
depends on quiet and freedom from excite- 
ment.” The good nurse was faithful to her 
trust. 

But Mary had found her place there; 
she had proved herself so capable that even 
Cousin Sallie was glad of her help. Mary’s 
step was light ; all her movements were gen- 
tle and soothing. She was ready to learn 
and quick to take Cousin Sallie’s slightest 
hint. Then she always brought a smiling 
face into the room and had some cheerful 
words to speak. Cousin Sallie’s dislike for 
“ Sunshine Mary ” was fast turning into un- 
bounded admiration. During many hours 
of anxious watching these two hearts, so 
unlike, seemingly so far apart, were drawn 
closely together. A few times Elsie and 
Arthur were allowed to step in and just 
speak to their mother, and occasionally 
Cousin Sallie would call on Clarence to 
assist in moving the patient. 

Through all these dark days Mary was the 


THE CLOUDS DEEPEN. 


115 


soul of the house. To her Arthur clung ; 
to her Clarence turned in his sorrowful 
remorse. Even Elsie, who seldom went to 
any one for sympathy, would cuddle down at 
Mary’s feet and lay her head in Mary’s lap to 
hide the bitter tears. There was something 
very pitiful about it, for Elsie’s feelings were 
generally kept in a deep place, her tears shed 
in secret; even when a little child this had 
been one of her peculiarities. The care of 
the house, too, rested on Mary’s shoulders, 
although she had Nellie in the kitchen to do 
the heavy work. It was Mary !” here, and 
“ Mary !” there. Up stairs and down she 
flew, kept up by powerful excitement, seem- 
ing not to know what it was to be tired, 
carrying everywhere a cheery face; for in 
her heart was the assurance, ‘‘ Mother will 
certainly recover.” This confidence partly 
came from her naturally strong, hopeful 
spirit, but still more from a great faith, 
childlike and simple — a faith in God and 
his promise to answer prayer. Sometimes, 
when she went into the kitchen, Nellie’s 
tender pity was more than she could bear; 
she would break down entirely when the 


116 


SUNSHINE 31 A BY. 


kind-hearted Irish woman would catch her 
up and cry over her: 

‘‘You poor dear little darlint! You have 
to be mither and all to the family.” 

Those were sorrowful days to Clarence 
Sanborn. To Mary he went for comfort, 
until, by her persuasions, he was induced to 
open his heart to Mr. Abbott, their faithful 
friend and pastor. Gently this wise minister 
led the young man to the feet of Him who 
came on a mission of forgiveness. Mr. Ab- 
bott showed him that dwelling on his own 
sin and folly would not lessen the guilt — 
that he must take it all to Christ and leave 
it there, not wasting time and strength in 
bitter regrets, but earnestly and at once 
commence a new life. 

While the mother was hovering between 
life and death, the soul of her first-born, 
her well-beloved son, was going through a 
bitter experience whose results would reach 
on through all eternity. He felt that he 
could never forgive himself, especially if his 
mother should die ; yet at last he learned to 
believe that with God there is forgiveness 
for the sorrowing penitent soul. Humbly he 


THE CLOUDS DEEPEN. 


117 


gave Ills heart to the Saviour, consecrating 
his future life to his mother’s God. 

As soon as Clarence saw the first ray of 
light he wanted to tell his mother the good 
news, but feared to excite her. 

“ She will hear the glad tidings the first 
thing in heaven, if she must go from us,” 
said kind Mr. Abbott. ‘‘ If she stays, there 
will be plenty of time : good things will 
keep.” 

So the long struggle in Clarence Sanborn’s 
heart ended in sweet peace with God. 

How long that sad, anxious time seemed ! 
— ‘‘like an age,” as Mary said, yet it was 
only a little over a week 

One never-to-be-forgotten morning Dr. 
Mason came out from Mrs. Sanborn’s room 
with a very bright face ; his eyes filled with 
joyful tears as he exclaimed, 

“ My dear children, the danger is passed. 
With good care and nursing, the dear mother 
will live.” 

Then there was great rejoicing among these 
happy children. 

“ Oh, Clarence,” said Mary, after the 


118 


SUNSHINE 3IARY. 


doctor had left them, ‘‘can you not pray 
with us as father used to do and thank God 
for mother’s life ?” 

Clarence hesitated. Could he? He felt 
that Mary had asked too much. Cousin 
Sallie might come in ; then there was Elsie. 
But a pleading glance from Mary decided 
him ; he knelt down and offered such a 
prayer as Mary thought she had never heard 
in all her life, thanking God not only for a 
mother spared to them, but also for a wanderer 
restored, blinded eyes opened, straying feet 
led into paths of safety. 

Mary’s heart was full of praise ; she went 
around the house singing glad songs. If 
there had been days of darkness in the little 
home, this was a day of brightness in which 
there was not a cloud — at least, not one that 
the children could see. 

But Cousin Sallie* did not take such a 
cheerful view : 

“ You’d better not go to singing and re- 
joicing until you’re well out of the woods. 
If there’s any commotion in this house, I 
wouldn’t give a snap for your mother’s life. 
She’s ill enough yet.” 


THE CLOUDS DEEPEN. 


119 


‘‘ Let Cousin Sallie croak if slie wants to,’’ 
was Elsie’s comment, ‘‘ but we will be glad 
in spite of her. You can’t make me believe 
she knows more than Dr. Mason does.” 


CHAPTER yil. 


APPREHENSION AND BELIEF. 

T hat afternoon Mary discovered that she 
was exceedingly tired and sleepy. 

Cousin Sallie gave her imperative orders : 
“ You go right up to your room and have 
a good long sleep. Don’t you dare to come 
down stairs until sundown.” 

‘‘ When v/ill you get any rest ?” asked 
Mary, kindly. 

“ Don’t fret about me. I can live without 
regular sleep — you can’t and so it seemed, 
but in her many years of nursing she had 
learned to take her rest by snatches as op- 
portunity offered, and so not to suffer. 

When Mary wakened, the sun was almost 
out of sight. Her first thought was, ‘‘ Mother 
is better. She will live, and not die !” 

What a joy to open our eyes after a long 
sleep and find that a heavy burden is gone 
from the heart ! You who for many days 
120 


APPREHENSION AND RELIEF. 


121 


and nights have watched the flickering life 
of one near and dear know what this joy is 
when fears and anxieties give place to hope 
and blessed certainty. 

“ The cloud is broken ; the light shines. 
God has been good to us — oh, so good ! 
The worst is over now. Mother will soon 
be well and strong,” thought Mary. Then 
the reinernbrance of Clarence’s new consecra- 
tion seemed almost too blessed to be true. 
Mary found herself repeating the words, 
‘‘ ‘ What shall I render unto the Lord ? I 
will take the cup of salvation, and call upon 
the name of the Lord.’ ” She felt thankful 
that her intention of professing Christ the 
previous Sunday had been frustrated ; ‘‘ for 
now there will be two of us to come,” was 
her happy conclusion. 

Mary lingered in her room thinking her 
pleasant thoughts and taking time to do 
what she had not done since her mother 
became so ill — to dress herself carefully 
and curl her hair, not forgetting to add a 
few flowers to complete the effect. She 
came down looking so fresh and bright in 
her pretty muslin that Elsie threw up her 


122 


SUNSHINE 31 ARY. 


hands in admiration : “ Now, Mary, you 

look like yourself once more;^’ while Ar- 
thur rushed up to her to give her a kiss. 

The tea-table was spread and the kettle 
was singing a cheerful song in the neat 
kitchen, while Elsie and Arthur were look- 
ing at a picture-book. Everything seemed 
so delightfully pleasant to Mary’s glad eyes ! 
She stepped softly into her mother’s room; 
there all was peace and quiet. The invalid 
put out her thin hand with a loving smile. 

Cousin Sallie was the only one who did 
not look pleased. This good woman noticed 
the change in Mary’s attire, but did not 
share in the general admiration. She 
severely eyed Mary from head to foot: 

‘‘ Humph ! the old pride’s there yet. 
Never’ll go, I guess.” With Cousin Sallie, 
“ beauty ” and “ pride ” were synonymous ; 
dainty apparel was a sure sign of vanity. 

Mary felt the blood mounting to her face, 
while bitter, angry feelings filled the heart 
that had a moment before throbbed with 
love and gratitude to God. ‘‘Why need 
Cousin Sallie be so tantalizing?” she won- 
dered; but she succeeded in keeping her 


APPREHENSION AND RELIEF. 123 

thoughts to herself. How could she speak 
them, with her mother’s wistful eyes so 
tenderly fixed upon her? But she found 
the old antagonism to Cousin Sallie asserting 
itself ; evidently there might still be battles 
to fight in that direction. 

Ah, yes, Mary ! battles to fight even to 
the end ; but the victory is sure, for He who 
fights with us is omnipotent : “ When the 
enemy shall come in like a fiood, the Spirit 
of the Lord shall lift up a standard against 
him.” 

Slowly Mrs. Sanborn felt her way back 
to life and health. A tedious, discouraging 
journey it proved to be, some days advan- 
cing, then seemingly going back, yet, on the 
whole, steadily gaining. 

Improving — improving,” was the doctor’s 
report every morning ; ‘‘ yet it will take a 
long time, for she has so little vitality.” 

Now came the most trying days to Mary 
— days with no great excitement to buoy up 
her hope and courage. Cousin Sallie again 
took entire possession of the sick-room, 
holding the fort against all intruders with 
a dogged persistency that sometimes pro- 


124 


SUNSHINE MARY, 


yoked Mary almost beyond all endurance. 
The nurse’s sharp, disagreeable ways were 
a continual annoyance to the fastidious 
girl. Mary could not see in Cousin Sallie 
the comicality which was such a source 
of amusement to Elsie. She took seriously 
many an affront at which the more lively 
Elsie only laughed. 

The July days were long and hot; there 
was plenty of work to be done. The care 
of the house and much of the drudgery fell 
upon Mary, for Elsie had a convenient fash- 
ion of being out of the way when she was 
most needed. Elsie’s words, Housework 
and I have had a falling out,” were evidently 
true. She had no taste for it, as Mary often 
found to her sorrow. Mary soon learned 
that she could not trust anything important 
to the heedless Elsie. 

Nellie stayed with them during the week 
that Mrs. Sanborn’s life was hanging in the 
balance, giving not only great assistance, but 
also genuine Irish sympathy. But Mary 
knew that a servant must not be kept lon- 
ger than was absolutely necessary. As soon 
as Mrs. Sanborn was out of real danger 


APPREHENSION AND RELIEF. 125 

Mary decided that Nellie’s services must be 
dispensed with: 

‘‘ You and I must do the work, Elsie.” 

Elsie demurred : 

“We might as well keep Nellie a little 
longer, I should think ; I don’t want to bake 
and brew.” 

“But where shall we get the money with 
which to pay her ? There will be so many 
expenses ! If we can do away with this one, 
we shall have something to use for mother’s 
comfort. We are out of school and well and 
strong ; we can easily do it.” 

“ Well, I suppose we must. I wish I were 
worth half a million ! Of one thing I am 
sure : I will never wash pots and kettles 
again.” 

“ I do not like it any better than you do,” 
with an expression of disgust, “ but it will 
not be so very bad if w’^e do it with a 
was Mary’s brave rejoinder. 

Kind, faithful Nellie hated to leave the 
girls alone, and offered to stay without wages. 
She had worked in the family for years 
during Mr. Sanborn’s lifetime ; since his 
death she had been Mrs. Sanborn’s main 


126 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


dependence for all heavy labor. She loved 
the children as though they were her own : 

‘‘ If I must go, I’ll come in often and help 
ye ; but how will ye ever make the bread, 
Miss Mary ?” 

Oh, you must show me, Nellie, before 
you go ; I am sure I can learn.” 

Nellie shook her head : 

“ Your little arms can never knead it — 
never !” 

Except making fancy cake and desserts, 
Mary knew very little about cooking ; Mrs. 
Sanborn had kept that part of housekeeping 
in her own hands. And now there were 
three meals to be prepared every day. 
Cousin Sallie must be fed and Clarence was 
often at home. For many days Mary strug- 
gled on courageously, failing sometimes, but 
laughing at her own mistakes, and trying 
again until success crowned her efforts. 

The great trouble was the bread. The 
first batch, under Nellie’s supervision and 
strong kneading, came out of the oven sweet 
and light — “just perfect,” Elsie declared ; but 
when Mary tried alone, it would not rise. 
She was positive she had followed Nellie’s 


APPREHENSION AND RELIEF. 


127 


directions to the letter, but there stood the 
refractory dough as flat as when first mixed ; 
no amount of coaxing would bring it to 
terms. What could be the matter? Mary 
worked over it all the morning, until her 
patience was exhausted. The kitchen was 
small, and oh so hot ! Mary’s cheeks were 
flaming ; there was dinner to get ; Elsie 
was nowhere to be found ; everything went 
wrong. Arthur came in crying with a hurt 
finger ; he must be comforted and the poor 
little digit tenderly bound up. Mary looked 
at the clock : it was nearly noon. No bread 
in the house for dinner ! She had intended 
having some warm biscuit such as she had 
seen Nellie make, but that stubborn dough 
— ‘‘ stubborn as any mule ” — had upset all 
her plans. 

Mary stood in the middle of the kitchen 
the very picture of dismay and wishing she 
could rush in and ask mother’s advice, when 
Cousin Sallie entered. Instead of the ex- 
pected sharp word, Mary heard a kind — 

Why, Sis, what under the sun’s the mat- 
ter now?” 

I cannot make that miserable bread rise,” 


128 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


came the reply, slowly and in a distressed 
tone. 

Is that all ? I thought something awful 
had happened. You just let me see ; I can 
make it come up like a feather if any one 
can.” But after Cousin Sallie had punched 
it energetically she declared, ‘‘That stuff’ll 
never rise, if you keep it there by the stove 
till doomsday. Something’s wrong, that’s 
sure. Did you leave out 3mur yeast?” 

“ Why, no ; I do not think I did.” 

“ Guess you did, now ; must be that.” 

Mary hastened to the pantry. Sure 
enough, there, on the shelf, stood her bowl 
of yeast waiting to be used. 

“Thought so. Most of things don’t go 
up in this world unless there’s something 
to make them go.” Then, with a keen 
glance at Mary, “ Guess you must have 
been dreaming about that time.” 

“ Perhaps I was,” very meekly replied 
Mary, while her conscience gave her a re- 
morseful little twinge as she remembered 
her birthday resolution. She waited for 
a cutting rebuke, but it did not come. 

Cousin Sallie put her strong shoulders to 


APPREHENSION ANP RELIEF. 


129 


the work, and soon had things moving briskly. 
In an incredibly short time she had a pan of 
biscuits, which she had whisked together, 
all ready for the oven. Thanks to her fac- 
ulty, energy and experience, a nice dinner 
was on the table in very good season. 

‘‘ She was just as good as she could be,’’ 
was Mary’s verdict in her account of the 
whole affair to Elsie. 

‘‘Oh, you two will love each other like 
doves before you get to the end of the 
chapter,” laughed Elsie. 

While Cousin Sallie looked after meat 
and vegetables, she gave Mary the pleasant- 
er task of preparing her mother’s meal ; for 
Cousin Sallie had found that the dainty 
dishes which Mary cooked and so inviting- 
ly arranged on the tray were the ones that 
tempted the invalid’s delicate appetite. 
Even the little vase of flowers that Mary 
was sure to add the practical cousin had 
learned not to despise when she saw how 
much pleasure it gave the sick one. 

How Mary enjoyed doing these little 
things for her mother that day when so 
disgusted with kitchen- work ! Then slie 

O 


130 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


had a few precious moments alone with the 
dear one, with no Cousin Sallie to hear what 
was said. Those few words of love and com- 
fort from her mother remained for days in 
Mary’s heart. When she sat down to her 
dinner, her face was as bright and smiling 
as though she had not been in the kitchen 
all the morning battling with ‘‘ the total de- 
pravity of material things.” 

When Cousin Sallie went back to Mrs. 
Sanborn’s room, she found her patient with 
a burning spot on each cheek. ‘‘All wrought 
up ! No more girls in here for one while,” 
was the good nurse’s mental conclusion. 
Mary thought she had been very careful 
not to say anything to worry her mother, 
yet little things she had laughingly told 
of her housekeeping experiences showed 
the loving mother-heart how great a bur- 
den rested upon her young daughter. She 
imagined the reason why Mary had dis- 
missed Nellie ; she was too weak to face 
financial troubles, but anxious, exciting 
thoughts would come. Cousin Sallie’s words 
— “Now, you’ve just got to stop thinking. 
Get quiet and go to sleep, or you’ll be in a 


APPREHENSION AND RELIEF. 


131 


raging fever” — she knew were true; so, 
lifting her heart in prayer, she endeavored 
to roll off the weight of fear and care. 

Many days like the one described came 
to Mary Sanborn during those tedious weeks 
of her mother’s convalescence — days when 
everything went awry. Early in the morn- 
ing she would hurry from her room to com- 
mence the day’s duties. She never left that 
room without an earnest prayer for blessing 
and guidance, but often she had only a few 
moments she could spare ; many times her 
Bible lay unopened all day, the verse for the 
day from her Daily Food being all she could 
find opportunity to read. Yet sometimes 
that one verse was to her heart a message 
from her Saviour that helped her through 
every trial. Those were the glad days 
when everything seemed easy, life all sun- 
shine. 

The weather continued exceedingly warm, 
and so bad for Mrs. Sanborn and trying in 
the little kitchen, where cooking must be 
done in spite of the heat. Mary did not 
understand the kerosene-stove, and so feared 
to use it, as Mrs. Sanborn would have done. 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


Ie32 

Poor inexperienced Mary, tired and over- 
worked, saw some dark hours. Longingdy 
she looked at her books and her closed 
piano, mourning over all she had hoped to 
do in vacation, but which must be left 
undone. The bright summer days were 
passing rapidly away with nothing ac- 
complished. The rambles and the pleasant 
excursions which she, Pay and Alice had 
planned to take while Eugene Thatcher 
was at home had to be given up ; the others 
went, but she could not join the merry par- 
ties. Such care and confinement was some- 
thing new for Mary, shielded as she had 
ever been by her mother’s thoughtful love. 

Then how to make ends meet grew to be a 
serious question. There was interest due on 
the mortgage and bills to be paid. Where 
was the money ? Mary and Clarence had 
long talks, but could see no light. Clarence 
was powerless to help; his own salary had 
been used as soon as due ; he had not the 
courage to ask for an advance, for he knew 
how severely his employer had judged his 
former wrong-doing. 

O CD 

Tell him how sorry you are for the past 


APPREHENSION AND RELIEF. 133 

and ask him to trust you for the future/’ 
pleaded Mary. 

But Clarence shook his head : 

“ He would not believe in me, I fear.” 

So brave Mary — the bravest of the two, 
although ‘‘only a girl ” — tried not to distress 
Clarence with her anxieties, but lay awake 
many nights endeavoring to contrive some 
way out of their difficulties. Daily she 
prayed to God for help, keeping in her heart 
a courageous, simple faith in his love and 
care. 

“ He feeds the ravens : he will not forget 
us,” she said. 

Frail little Arthur drooped as the heat 
increased. 

“ You must watch him very carefully; he 
is liable to be sick at this season,” was Mrs. 
Sanborn’s injunction to Mary. 

The little fellow constantly pined for his 
mother. Mary tried hard to fill a mother’s 
place to him, giving him many hours which 
she would gladly have spent in other ways. 
He slept in her room ; the constant care of 
him, to which she was so unaccustomed, was 
more of a tax upon her than she imagined. 


134 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


The long month of July — the longest in 
Mary’s life — finally came to an end; August 
found Mrs. Sanborn still feeble, but able to 
sit up a little while every day. 

Cousin Sallie ought to go home,” said 
Mrs. Sanborn ; but she was silenced by a 
decided rejoinder : 

‘‘ I ain’t in the habit of leaving folks in 
the middle of the stream ; I always see them 
safely over.” So Cousin Sallie was still at 
the cottage. 

One morning Mary overslept herself. 
When she awoke she found the sun several 
hours higli. ‘‘ I am so sorry ! There is so 
much to do to-day ! But I will try to catch 
the lost time,” she thought. She made a 
hurried toilet and hastened down stairs, 
leaving Arthur to Elsie’s care. 

Cousin Sallie, bustling around in the 
kitchen, had started a fire in order to prepare 
something for Mrs. Sanborn. 

Tardy this morning,” was her rather 
tart greeting; “guess you stopped too long 
to prink.” 

“ No, I did not ; I overslept,” replied Mai*y, 
impatiently. 


APPREHENSION AND RELIEF. 


135 


‘‘Why does not Elsie come and set the 
table ?” Mary wondered as she rushed from 
one thing to another. So many things to 
be done, and only one pair of hands to 
do them ! 

Elsie and Arthur were having private 
theatricals of their own in Mary’s room, 
Elsie the actor and Arthur the interested 
audience. 

The utensil most needed in getting the 
breakfast Mary could not find ; after a long 
hunt she discovered it in a stray corner, 
where it did not belong, put there by that 
“ disorderly Elsie.” 

“ Oh dear ! how crooked everything is this 
morning !” sighed poor Mary. 

By the time the meal was on the table 
Mary felt tired out; her usually smiling face 
was sadly clouded. Elsie made a provoking- 
remark about “ Miss Solemnity at the head 
of the table ” that amused Cousin Sallie, but 
made Mary feel very uncomfortable. 

Thus the day commenced, and thus it con- 
tinued — a long chapter of misfortunes. Many 
times Mary wished she could run away, drop 
everything and have a good long cry. She 


136 


SUNSHINE 3IABY. 


tried hard to master the impatience within, 
but her head and her back ached and her 
heart was heavy ; all her strength and 
bravery had vanished. 

About the middle of the morning Arthur 
came into the kitchen just as Mary was 
putting a pudding into the oven. 

‘‘Oh, Mary, just see what Tve got!” he 
exclaimed. 

Mary stopped to look. To her disgust, 
she saw two or three toads snugged up in 
the child’s apron. 

“Oh, Arthur, throw the dirty things 
away!” she cried, almost dropping the des- 
sert from her hand. 

“They ain’t dirty things; they’re real 
nice and pretty,” in an offended tone ; but he 
went to the door and reluctantly threw them 
out. Then he came back and hung around 
Mary, moaning out pitifully, “ I feel so bad ! 
I guess I’m sick. Can’t 1 go to mamma ?” 

Mary stopped lier work at once: 

“ My poor little Arthur ! Come to sister 
Mary,” taking him in her lap; but the 
warning clock told of other things that must 
be done, so she carried him into the dining- 


APPREHENSION AND BELIEF. 


137 


room, where Elsie was sitting, book in hand. 
— “ Take him, Elsie ; tell him a story and 
try to rock him to sleep. If he can have a 
good nap before dinner, he will be all right.’’ 

Mary gave Arthur a kiss, and then went 
back to her work. After a time she returned 
to the room and found Elsie rocking vigor- 
ously and singing in a loud voice, Rock-a- 
bye, baby, upon the tree-top.” She had her 
book in one hand trying to read. Arthur 
hung on her lap in a limp sort of way, look- 
ing very pale and uncomfortable. 

Why, Elsie ! Do you suppose you can 
put a child to sleep in that way?” 

Giving Elsie some particular directions 
about watching the cooking, Mary took Ar- 
thur to her own room and tenderly soothed 
him to sleep. When she came back to 
the kitchen, Elsie was nowhere to be seen ; 
the room was full of smoke, the water hav- 
ino; boiled out of the kettle containing the 
vegetables, so that they were almost spoiled. 

“ Oh, oh ! What an unfortunate day ! what 
a careless girl !” cried poor Mary. 

Going to the door to call Elsie, she caught 
a glimpse of her sailing down the garden- 


138 


SUNSHINE 31 A BY. 


walk without a hat, but with a big umbrel- 
la over her head, reading the fascinating 
stoiy. Mary could not but laugh in spite 
of her vexation. - 

“ Why, you don’t mean to say those po- 
tatoes burned ? — You naughty potatoes !” 
was all the reply Elsie made to Mary’s 
reproof. 

To add to the trouble, a friend of Mrs. 
Sanborn called who must be invited to stay 
to dinner. Again Cousin Sallie came to the 
rescue and was very kind to Mary, as she 
was apt to be in any real emergency. 

Mary was thankful when the meal was 
well over, but then there were the dishes 
to be washed. She rallied once more, and 
witli Elsie’s assistance they were soon de- 
spatched. 

When all was finished and the two girls 
were leaving the dining-room, Elsie, with 
one of her tragic movements, knocked off 
from a side-table a glass vase that Mary had 
brought out in the morning to empty of its 
faded flowers and had forgotten to return 
to its place. It would never hold blossoms 
again, for it was broken into fine bits. 


APPREHENSION AND BELIEF. 1^39 

“ Oh, Elsie, Elsie ! How could you ? My 
choice, beautiful vase, that Auut Lucy gave 
me ! That is a shame.’’ 

Elsie coolly gathered up the fragments. 

“ Why, you look as solemn as an owl. 
Wonder if I cannot glue them together 
with Spaulding’s glue, just to keep your 
heart from breaking ?” she retorted, with a 
mocking laugh. 

This was the last straw to poor Mary ; 
her eyes flashed : 

‘‘ Elsie Sanborn, you are hateful and cruel, 
to break my pretty vase and then stand there 
and laugh !” 

‘‘ Heigh ho ! Saint Mary ! I thought 
Christians did not get angry ? — angry, too, 
over a little vase !” 

This brought Mary to herself: 

‘ I have no business to be angry over such 
a trifle; I am sorry, Elsie — oh, so sorry!” 
and she rushed from the room. 

As Mary passed her mother’s door she saw 
that Cousin Sallie was out ; she could not re- 
sist the temptation to enter. Seating herself 
on a stool by the bed, she hid her face in her 
hands. 


140 


SUNSHINE MAEY. 


“ What is it, Mary ?” asked Mrs. Sanborn, 
stroking the bowed head. 

Oh, mother, I am so wicked ! Such a 
dreadful day as I have had ! I have been 
cross, impatient and angry. I cannot tell 
what is the matter ; I did not know I had 
such a temper.” 

Poor child ! you are all tired out : that 
is the trouble. It is more the body than 
the spirit; you are having too much work 
and care.” 

“ Yes, mother, I am tired a little ; but 1 
ought not to get angry.” 

‘‘ No, dear, but — ” 

Just then a strong pair of hands took 
hold of Mary’s shoulders : 

“This will never do! You must go.” 

“ Let her stay,” pleaded the mother. 

“ No, no !” Gently but decidedly Cousin 
Sallie pushed Mary out of the room, then 
quietly closed the door. 

Mary sank down on the floor feeling that 
her last ray of hope had gone from her — a 
miserably discouraged, heavy-hearted little 
woman. 

Soon Cousin Sallie came out, and, seeing 


APPREHENSION AND RELIEF. 


141 


tbe pitiful little heap, took Mary up in her 
arms and carried her to the sofa : 

“ Now, Sis, just tell me all about it. Tm 
strong and can bear it, but mother can’t.” 

The tone was so kind and sympathetic 
that Mary’s lips were at once unsealed : 

Oh, Cousin Sallie, I have been wrong 
all day — so wicked and cross ! It has been 
such a hard day!” 

‘‘ I know all about it without telling. You 
see, you’re all tuckered out ; and no wonder, 
poor lamb ! Just see what you’ve done all 
these weeks, and so brave and patient 
through it all.” 

‘‘ But I am not patient ; if I only could 
be, I would not mind the tire.” 

‘‘Well, chick, what can folks do when 
every nerve in ’em is on the jump? You 
must have a good long sleep. When you 
are well rested, then you can settle your 
account with the Lord ; you can’t do it 
now. You see, I can’t have two sick ones 
on my hands. You’ve been doing too 
much ; that mischievous Elsie must do more 
of the work, and you must do some of the 
walking in the garden. I’ll just have to 


142 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


take Miss Elsie in hand and see that she 
doesn^t shirk.” Cousin Sallie’s eyes had been 
more widely open than Mary had imagined. 
‘^Now you go up stairs and go to bed, and 
stay there till to-morrow. I’ll take Arthur 
down here and cosset him up. Let him go 
in his mother’s room some ; guess he won’t 
tire her as much as you older ones do. Now, 
you do just as I tell you, but don’t you lie 
awake thinking it all over. Put yourself, 
and all your belongings, sins and all, in the 
good Lord’s care ; and if you don’t wake up 
with a lighter conscience, then my name 
ain’t Sallie Jones.” 

Mary’s face had brightened wonderfully 
during Cousin Sallie’s talk ; her words were 
just the tonic needed. 

‘‘I will do just as you say. Cousin Sallie,” 
said she, and I thank you very much.” 

The moon was flooding her room with soft 
light when Mary opened her eyes after her 
long sleep. She heard the clock striking 
nine; could it be she had slept so long? 
Could she be the same tired, unhappy girl 
who lay down that afternoon ? How dif- 
ferently she felt ! so rested and refreshed. 


APPREHENSION AND RELIEF. 143 

the heavy load on her heart lifted too, even 
as Cousin Sallie had prophesied. She sat 
down by the window, gazing out on the 
sleeping world. The air was cool and 
everything was quiet — so quiet that she 
could almost imagine that Nature’s great 
heart had ceased to beat. All was beautiful, 
all was peace; and sweet peace and trust 
came into Mary’s soul. The struggle and 
turmoil of the day seemed so far away, God 
and heaven so near. Would not the kind 
Father in heaven who had made this glo- 
rious world, and who so constantly watched 
over it, care for her, his own dear child? 
The sins, mistakes and failures of the day 
she felt sure that he would forgive, and 
grant her new strength. How insignificant 
looked the trials of the past weeks compared 
with God’s great blessings — her mother’s re- 
stored life, Clarence’s consecration to Christ ! 
for daily she saw increasing evidence that 
the change in her brother was a great and 
permanent one. 

These trying weeks had been blessed 
weeks, after all, crowned with loving-kind- 
ness and tender mercy.” Mary wondered 


144 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


how she could have allowed these annoyances 
to trouble her as they had done. Yet she 
did not realize how much the experiences of 
the past month had been doing for her, 
teaching her lessons that would be of life- 
long benefit. She was like the workman on 
the wrong side of the tapestry, who sees only 
the jagged ends and fastenings, but has little 
idea of the perfect pattern that is being 
wrought on the other side. Since that 
birthday morning when she sat in her 
room making earnest resolutions, God had 
been speaking to her young heart in many 
ways. Patience, submission, faith and trust 
had all been strengthened ; unselfish devotion 
to others had taken deeper root. The habit 
of day-dreaming had been almost entirely 
broken up — for the time being, at least — 
never again to have its old power. Life 
seemed so much more earnest and real than 
it ever had seemed in the past; for had not 
death been very near, close to her heart? 
She thought with a sigh of her disappoint- 
ed school-project, but the old rebellion and 
willfulness in this matter were mostly gone ; 
she was more ready to trust it all to God. 


APPREHENSION AND RELIEF. 


145 


Sitting there in the moonlight, looking up 
into heaven, her heart went out in a new and 
loving consecration to her Saviour. 

Blind, foolish mortals are we. Our choice 
would ever be joy, pleasure, ease ; surely, 
never pain, sorrow, difficulty. But He who 
is moulding our spirits for heaven is wiser 
than we ; he sees that only through the 
discipline of suffering can our souls rise to a 
higher life. The young cannot understand 
this. To them trouble of any kind seems 
only unmitigated evil ; they have no place 
for it in their bright dreams of the future. 
Yet many hearts have learned — some while 
very young — that God teaches us his sweetest 
lessons by disappointments and trials. Only 
trust in his love — trust in the dark, trust 
in the light, trust at night and trust in the 
morning then, whatever may come, there 
will be peace. 

10 


CHAPTER VIII. 


HOURS OF REFRESHING. 

M ARY’S door was opened softly. 

‘‘Why, Mary, are you up? I thought 
you would never wake. When I came in 
last time, you were sleeping so soundly ! 
Cousin Sallie sent you some lunch ; you 
must be hungry.” 

“ Cousin Sallie is a jewel. I am wide 
awake now, and hungry too; I think some- 
thing to eat would be very nice.” 

But Elsie, instead of going back to her 
own room for the tray, astonished Mary 
by coming up behind her, putting 'her 
arm around her neck and exclaiming, 

“ Oh, Mary, do forgive me for breaking 
your vase and then being so hateful.” 

“/am the one to ask forgiveness, Elsie; I 
was so angry !” 

“ How could you help it ? I know I was 
awfully provoking. But, Mary, how did you 

146 


HOURS OF REFRESHING. 


147 


get over it so quickly ? Do tell me the 
secret. You were sorry in a moment : I 
can’t get over it in that way when I am 
vexed.” 

‘‘ Jesus helps me,” was the earnest reply. 

“ Now, Mary, do you really think he does?” 

‘‘ I am sure he does, and he will help you 
if you will only ask him.” Then, putting 
her arm around Elsie, Will you not love 
him and trust him ?” 

‘‘ I’ve wished I could a great many times 
since mother has been sick. I wish I could 
trust him as you do. But I could never be 
a Christian ; I am too wicked, too full of 
badness.” 

Wisely and lovingly Mary talked to her 
wayward sister, trying to win her to Christ. 
For the first time Elsie was willing to listen 
soberly and thoughtfully. When the sisters 
separated for the night, there was a new bond 
of sympathy and confidence between them. 

After that evening’s talk Mary understood 
Elsie better than ever before ; she found 
that hidden away under Elsie’s drollery 
and fun, deep down in the heart, there were 
earnest thoughts and purposes that Mary had 


148 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


never suspected. She was also astonished to 
find how great was her own influence over 
Elsie. After that moonlight conversation, 
Mary’s prayers for Elsie were offered with 
new faith and hope. 

“ Mary child, what is mother worrying 
about all the time?” asked Dr. Mason one 
morning after his usual visit to Mrs. San- 
born’s room. ‘‘Something is keeping her 
back. I cannot see why she does not gain 
faster; I fear there is some trouble on her 
mind. Can you tell me what it is?” 

“ I think I know, Dr. Mason, but I fear 
mother would not want me to tell ; she does 
not like us to disclose family matters.” 

“ But you must tell me ; I must know. I 
will take all the responsibility. I am an 
old friend ; you can trust me with every- 
thing.” 

It was hard for Mary to speak of their 
pecuniary difficulties to another, for she had 
much of her mother’s pride and independ- 
ence ; yet it was a great comfort to have the 
good, kind Dr. Mason understand it all — 
to feel sure of his aid and advice as well 


HOURS OF REFRESHING. 


149 


as his sympathy. Mary stood sorely in need 
of them all. 

With a very sober face Dr. Mason listened 
to Mary’s story, asking an occasional question 
when she paused for a moment. After she 
had finished he sat thinking — for a long, 
long time it seemed to Mary. Suddenly he 
astonished her with the query, 

‘‘ Where is your uncle James now — your 
mother’s only brother?” 

“ He and his wife are at their home ; they 
have just returned from a trip to Europe. 
Mother had a letter just before she was taken 
sick. Both of their children died, and Aunt 
Lucy was so heartbroken that they closed 
their house and went abroad for a couple 
of years.” 

‘‘Not a chick nor a child in the world, 
then, and plenty of money ! He had better 
help his sister and her children.” 

Mary was alarmed in an instant : 

“Oh, Dr. Mason, do not write to them of 
our poverty — pray do not. Their money 
came mostly through Aunt Lucy, and she 
is a very proud woman ; mother would never 
be willing to receive help from her.” 


150 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


‘‘I know some others who are proud. 
People must put their pride in their pockets 
sometimes. Now, Mar}^, you just keep quiet, 
and do not say one word to your mother : I am 
managing this matter. I think I can see a 
way out of our difficulties.’’ 

Dr. Mason chuckled in a jolly way that 
seemed quite unaccountable to Mary. 

“ Please do not write to them about it, 
doctor; if you write at all, tell them only of 
mother’s sickness.” 

‘‘Tut, tut! Now, don’t you worry. ‘Little 
Miss Mary quite contrary,’ you just mind 
me and keep your own counsel.” Then, 
taking hold of Mary’s arm, “ Why, child, 
you are getting thin ; losing your roses ; 
black circles under your eyes : you will be 
sick next. I must give you a tonic to brace 
you up. Courage a little longer ; there’s 
a good time coming.” With these cheery 
words Dr. Mason took his departure, carry- 
ing with him one of Mary’s beaming smiles. 

Mary stood and watched him as he mounted 
his queer old gig and wheeled down the street, 
wondering what project the kind man had in 
his head — what his prophecy about “ the 


HOURS OF REFRESHING. 


151 


good time coming ” could possibly mean ; 
but she concluded not to puzzle her brain 
over it, so, breaking out into a song, she went 
about her morning’s duties. 

That afternoon Ray came and took Mary 
for a long drive. 

‘‘ You may keep her to tea,” called out 
Cousin Sallie as the girls were starting. 

Indeed, I cannot stay,” remonstrated 
Mary. 

“But you can, and you must,” was the 
reply, in most positive tones. 

Bay was only too glad to take Cousin 
Sal lie’s hint. 

“ Which road shall we take ?” asked she 
as the pony halted where two roads met. 

“ Oh, the one that will take us by the 
river : I so much want to see the dear old 
river again.” 

This long, bright afternoon in the open air 
was an exquisite delight to Mary after her 
weeks of confinement in the house. The 
intense heat of July had abated ; the air 
was cool and sweet; frequent rains had kept 
everything fresh and green. The cows stood 
lazily under the trees, looking up at the 


152 


SUNSHINE 3IARY. 


passers-by with wondering eyes, the very 
picture of quiet content. 

Mary leaned back in the phaeton enjoying 
every moment, eyes and ears open to every 
charming sight and sound. Is it a new 
world,’’ she wondered, ‘‘ or has Mother 
Nature been growing even more beautiful 
as the summer matured ?” 

Soon the river was reached. The road 
followed the banks of the stream under an 
avenue of trees. 

“ How lovely — oh how lovely !” exclaimed 
Mary. 

Ray dropped the reins; the pony, glad of 
the grateful shade, willingly slackened his 
pace to a slow walk. Then the two friends 
talked : you girls can imagine how fast they 
talked after being so long separated. There 
were so many things to be discussed. Mary 
found in Ray a sympathetic listener to her 
story of all the joys and trials of the past 
weeks. Then Ray told of the pleasant 
things — walks, rides and parties from which 
Mary had been so sadly missed. They also 
talked of school. 

“ Of course you cannot go this fall,” said 


HOURS OF REFRESHING. 


153 


Ray ; “ so I am quite reconciled to staying at 
home. Or are you still hoping to go?’’ 

‘‘Ido not know that I can ever go, Ray, 
but, since mother’s life has been given back 
to us and Clarence has become a Christian, I 
feel so differently about it ! God has given me 
so much that I can leave the rest with him.” 

Ray turned around in astonishment. 
Mary’s eyes were full of tears, but she 
looked very happy. 

When they were nearly home, Ray 
astonished Mary by exclaiming, 

“ You cannot imagine, Mary, how much 
I have missed you and longed for you; it 
seemed at times that I must see you. I did 
not before know how much I depended upon 
you for strength and courage;” and Ray 
told of some trials in her own home-life, 
saying about her stepmother some bitter 
things that jarred on Mary’s ears. She 
wished Ray would not speak so unkindly 
of her stepmother. 

“ But, dear Ray, can you not take it all to 
God ?” 

“ I do try to, every day ; but it does not 
seem to do much good.” 


154 


SUNSHINE 31 ARY. 


Ray’s answer sounded very strangely to 
Mary ; what could it mean ? Ah, Mary, 
you do not know that your quiet, childlike 
faith is very rare. Many of God’s children 
who are willing to trust him for their salva- 
tion do not trust him with the little affairs 
of daily life; thus they fail of the peace and 
the joy that come from taking every trouble 
and every annoyance to the great Burden- 
bearer and leaving it with him. Often it is 
years before this sweet lesson is learned ; 
when once understood, the Christian wonders 
how he could ever liave lived a life so barren 
of true happiness. Blessed are they who 
learn while young to take all things, small 
as well as great, to God. 

On their way home the girls called upon 
Alice. She was delighted at the sight of 
Mary, who she began to think “had taken 
the veil.” Their call was a short one, as 
Alice was very much engrossed with visitors 
from the city. 

Mary received a warm welcome from Mrs. 
Thatcher ; she made so many kind inquiries 
about Mrs. Sanborn, showing so much real 
interest and sympathy, and seeming so sweet 


HOURS OF REFRESHING. 


155 


and lovable in every way, that Mary won- 
dered at some things Ray had said during 
their drive. 

Eugene went down to the store and 
brought Clarence back with him to supper. 
Mary was glad to see on what good terms 
the two young men appeared to be. 

Everything was pleasant to Mary that 
afternoon — the ride, with its confidential 
talk ; the music in the beautiful parlors after 
tea ; the moonlight walk home. Every one 
was very kind to her ; even stately Mr. 
Thatcher, of whom Mary stood very much 
in awe, was exceedingly affable, entertaining 
her in the most charming manner. 

At an early hour Mary and Clarence took 
their leave, Ray and Eugene accompanying 
them to the Sanborn gate. As they came 
up the walk they found Elsie on the piazza 
awaiting their arrival and ready with her 
greeting : 

'‘Had a good time?'' 

" Oh yes — a perfectly lovely time," ex- 
claimed Mary. 

" I suppose so, especially the walk home : 
I see Mr. Eugene came along." 


156 


SUNSHINE MARY, 


“ Why, yes, and so did Kay.” 

Of course Kay had to come to make the 
number even,” with a sly glance from her 
mischievous eyes. 

Mary and Clarence stepped into their 
mother’s room to give her a good-night 
kiss. 

am glad you went; it has done you 
good,” said Mrs. Sanborn, looking into 
Mary’s bright face. 

How well mother seems to-night !” were 
Clarence’s words to Mary as they went up 
to their rooms. “ I must have a little talk 
with her to-morrow morning, if I can only 
find her alone.” 

I hope you will ; I will manage to keep 
Cousin Sallie in the dining-room in some 
way.” 

Mary had never said anything to her 
mother about the change in Clarence; she 
feared the excitement. Indeed, she never 
had an opportunity, being seldom alone with 
her mother even for a few moments. Cousin 
Sallie watched her patient so closely. Be- 
sides, Mary wanted Clarence himself to tell 
the good news. 


HOURS OF REFRESHING. 157 

While Mary and Elsie were preparing for 
bed, Elsie freed her mind on the subject of 
Cousin Sallie : 

“ Why, she’s perfectly horrid ! I don’t see 
how you stand it ; you are too meek. I just 
answer her back real saucily ; then she has to 
laugh.” 

Why, I thought you liked Cousin Sallie 
— considered her so funny?” 

Yes, I know ; but you don’t see the fun 
when you have to wait on her and be ordered 
around by her as though you were her slave. 
I don’t propose to be her factotum much lon- 
ger ; I am going to resign. I will serve 
under ^ Queen Mary,’ but, as for this bogus 
queen, I don’t recognize her authority. She 
is too homely for anything with her yellow 
hair strained back from her face and done 
up in that little wad. I asked her to-day 
why she did not friz her hair or wear bangs. 
Oh, if you could have seen the look she gave 
me! ‘Elsie Sanborn, you don’t suppose I’d 
be guilty of the sin of twisting and torturing 
my hair out of the way God meant it to go? 
It’s bad enough when it kinks up of itself 
like Mary’s; it makes her awful vain.’ I 


158 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


laughed and told her I thought frizzes and 
bangs would be very becoming to her style 
of beauty.” 

Oh, Elsie, how could you ? Mother says 
that Cousin Sallie used to be quite nice-look- 
ing when she was young.” 

“ * Nice-looking,’ indeed ! Then Dame Na- 
ture must have taken a very queer freak, to 
transform her so completely ;” and Elsie rat- 
tled on, telling many funny things about 
Cousin Sallie, so exactly imitating her voice 
and manner that Mary was convulsed. 

The peals of laughter from above brought 
Cousin Sallie to the foot of the stairs: 

“Girls! girls! What a dreadful clatter 
you make up there ! It’s enough to make 
sick folks crazy.” 

After that the laughter was smothered, but 
the conversation went on in low tones. 

“I suppose it is because Cousin Sallie is 
an old maid living all by herself that she is 
so odd. I imagine I will be just like her 
when I get to be old and lose my teeth, I 
am so sharp and hateful now. Only my 
hair can never be yellow.” 

“ Now, Elsie, Cousin Sallie is disagreeable 


HOURS OF REFRESHING. 


159 


and provoking, but she is good at heart. 
Just see how kind she has been to mother; 
I do believe she has saved her life. The 
close watch she has kept, shutting us all out 
from the room, has been mother’s salvation. 
Dr. Mason says. See how gentle and ten- 
der she is with mother. In that sick-room 
Cousin Sallie is like a different being. Then 
she has been real good to me, helping me out 
of so many cooking-scrapes. We ought to 
love Cousin Sallie all our lives for all she 
has done for mother,” concluded Mary, strok- 
ing out her tangled curls. 

“ That’s as true as gospel ; she has stood 
by mother day and night, never tired, never 
groaning nor complaining.” 

‘‘ Well, Elsie, we must never see Cousin 
Sallie suffer ; I never will if it is in my 
power to give her the care she needs.” 

'‘Neither will I; only I hope she will 
doff some of her porcupine-quills before I 
have it to do. That kind of ' good folks ’ 
are not comfortable to handle. I will take 
back all the wicked things I have been say- 
ing about her and with a comical gesture 
Elsie departed to her room. 


160 


SUNSHJyE MABY. 


The sisters voted Cousin Sallie Jones 
“ good.’’ Had they known all her life, they 
would have been filled with admii-ation, and 
would have called her a brave heroine. 
Had they known of the disappointment, 
the treachery, that had blasted her young 
womanhood, they would not have wondered 
at her sharpness. Those happy girls did 
not dream of the heroic fortitude with which 
she had covered up her own heartache, unsel- 
fishly devoting her life to the care of father 
and mother, sister and brother, until one 
after the other sickened, died and was laid 
away in the quiet churchyard, leaving her 
alone to battle with the world. Then, in- 
stead of sitting down to mourn over her 
sorrow and isolation, she went out to suf- 
fering ones wherever they could be found, 
and lavished on them her love and care. 
When the crowns are distributed, many a 
cultured, refined woman may have to stand 
aside while plain Cousin Sallie goes up to 
receive her bright diadem, the reward of a 
life devoted to the good of others. Such 
brave, consecrated hearts are never for a mo- 
ment lost sight of by the all-seeing Father. 


HOURS OF REFRESHING. 


161 


The next morning Clarence hastily ex- 
cused himself from the break fast- table to 
go to his mother’s room. Cousin Sallie 
watched him suspiciously, but said nothing, 
then seemed purposely to linger in the 
dining-room to give him opportunity for 
a little visit with his mother. 

Indeed, Clarence was the one of all the 
children whom Cousin Sallie was inclined 
to humor. She seldom opposed him, often 
deferring to him as though he were a man 
in years. His gallant, pleasing manner had 
entirely won her. Then, like some other 
women, she had a latent feeling, never ad- 
mitted, that men belong to a superior race 
of creatures, and are thus entitled to the best 
the world has to offer. 

Mary stood waiting on the piazza when 
Clarence appeared. His radiant face made 
her very glad. He could not tell her all 
the sweet words his mother had spoken, yet 
he carried them away in his heart, ever to 
be remembered. 

Good-bye, little sister,” he said, kissing 
her affectionately ; ‘^your brother is a happy 
fellow this morning, and he does not forget 
u 


162 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


how much of his happiness he owes to your 
influence.’’ 

Cousin Sallie found Mrs. Sanborn with 
tears in her eyes, but looking very quietly 
happy. 

‘‘I am not surprised,” Mrs. Sanborn had 
said to Clarence ; ‘‘ I have been watching and 
praying for this a long time : now my prayer 
is answered.” Her heart was full of grate- 
ful joy — a joy that had a stronger healing 
power than all Dr. Mason’s tonics, the joy 
of a Christian mother over the redemption 
of her oldest son. None but a mother can 
know what that means. 

Wise Cousin Sallie imagined the state of 
the case. She had been doing some of her 
“guessing” during these weeks. The ret- 
icent nurse, with her keen eyes and strong 
faith, had found out many things, often as- 
tonishing Mary by her seeming intuitions. 
Mary was learning day by day to love and 
respect Cousin Sallie, to prize the good that 
was hidden under a forbidding exterior. 


CHAPTER IX. 


LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS. 

I T was a pleasant afternoon in the latter 
part of August. Mrs. Sanborn had left 
her room for the first time. She was lean- 
ing back in an easy -chair, gazing out of the 
sitting-room window upon the children out- 
side, or far away on the fleecy clouds and the 
mountains that looked so blue in the dis- 
tance. Cousin Sallie was hovering near, 
knitting in hand, ready to notice the first 
indication that her patient was growing 
tired ; Mary and Elsie were on the piazza ; 
Arthur was running in and out, bringing a 
flower, a pretty stone, or even a worm or a 
bug, to entertain mamma,’’ so glad was he 
to have her once more out among the family. 
The little fellow seemed to be a born nat- 
uialist, interested in everything in nature. 
Then, in the many hours they had spent to- 
gether in the yard and in the garden, his 

163 


164 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


mother had taught him that these many 
forms of animal life were curiously and 
wonderfully made ; that they were to be ex- 
amined and admired, not shunned and hated. 
Mrs. Sanborn had shared her husband’s love 
for the natural sciences, and so was delighted 
to see some of the same tastes developing in 
her little son. But Mary and Elsie, girl- 
like, were often disgusted to see him on 
such familiar terms with ‘‘creeping, crawl- 
ing things.” 

This afternoon, when he came in with a 
strange caterpillar in his hand, Elsie ex- 
claimed, 

“ You horrid child ! Don’t take that 
dreadful worm into the sitting-room !” 

“ It isn’t dreadful ; it’s pretty. God made 
it, and mamma loves it. I’m just going to 
show it to her.” 

Mrs. Sanborn looked and admired, telling 
him some interesting facts about caterpillars; 
then she advised him to lay it carefully in 
the grass, and not to step upon it nor hurt 
it, but the next time he brought one in to 
bring it on a leaf or a piece of paper, as some 
kinds of caterpillars poisoned the skin. 


LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS. 


165 


Arthur came out of the room triumphant: 

Mamma did like it ; she thought it was 
beautiful.” 

Humph ! Your mamma has some aw- 
fully queer likings, I think,” remarked 
Cousin Sallie. 

How happy they all were ! Mary sat by 
a window near her mother, occasionally 
reading to her a few lines from a copy of 
Longfellow’s poems, then joining Elsie in 
snatches of song, all doing all they could to 
amuse and interest the loved one. As Mary 
expressed it, ‘‘ We want to do something to 
celebrate the release of our dear little mother 
from her prison.” 

But a sharp pang shot through Mary’s 
heart as she noticed how very thin and pale 
was that mother’s face, yet how sweet and 
patient. “ She needs only wings,” Mary 
thought, ‘‘to fly away from us all and mount 
right up to heaven.” 

The quiet of the group was disturbed by 
the stopping of a vehicle at the gate. 

“ Who has come ?” exclaimed Mary ; but 
immediately, as a gentleman stepped out, 
she recognized Uncle James Hastings. She 


166 


SUNSHINE 3IARY. 


dropped her book and rushed down the walk 
to give him a welcome. 

Cousin Sal lie, in the mean time, helped 
Mrs. Sanborn back to her own room as 
quietly as possibly, telling her, 

You must go back now : somebody is 
coming.” 

When Mary reached the gate, she found 
not only Uncle James, but also a tall, 
dignified-looking lady in deep black. She 
knew at once that this must be ‘‘Aunt Lucy,” 
the elegant but haughty woman of her child- 
ish recollection. She shrank back a little 
abashed at sight of her aunt ; but Uncle 
James tenderly drew her to him : 

“ So this must be ‘ Sunshine Mary ’ grown 
up to be a young lady ?” kissing her over 
and over. “ She looks like her father, but 
she has her mother’s eyes.” 

Aunt Lucy too seemed glad to see her 
niece, putting her arm around Mary and 
speaking very affectionately to her. She 
did not appear to be the haughty, proud 
woman whom Mary remembered. It was 
the same handsome face, only there were 
tears in the eyes as Mary looked into them ; 


LIGHT IN THE HABKNESS. 167 

tone and manner had grown strangely sweet 
and gentle. Great sorrow had touched Mrs. 
Hastings, softening her heart. 

‘‘ How quiet and pleasant it is here, 
James !’' she remarked to her husband as 
they walked toward the house. I think I 
might be very happy in this little gem of 
a cottage.’’ 

“ I only hope you may be, Lucy,” replied 
her husband. 

Mary caught at the words, for she was 
sure that her mother had always felt that 
Aunt Lucy did not care to visit their plain 
country home — that Uncle James had been 
so influenced by his wife that he too did not 
care to come. Now they had arrived 
uninvited and unannounced. Mary was 
very suspicious that Dr. Mason had been 
writing them a letter and telling them some 
of the family secrets, but she did not feel 
much like worrying about it as she met 
Uncle James’s kind, fatherly glance. 

‘‘ Mary, how is the dear mother?” he 
asked. You must not let our coming ex- 
cite her.” 

The gentleman might have saved himself 


168 


SUNSHINE 3IARY. 


that anxiety : Cousin Sal lie was on the alert 
and prepared for the emergency. The 
invalid was already safely hidden away in 
her own room ; she was not permitted to 
know who had arrived until she had had a 
\J good nap. When well rested she was told 
that Mr. and Mrs. Hastings had come, and 
then they were called into the room. 

Mr. Hastings’s heart bitterly reproached 
him when he saw how changed his sister 
was, how old she had grown ; her worn face 
told the story of her trials and sorrows, her 
cares and fears. 

“ How could I have been so thoughtless,” 
he said to his wife that evening, ‘‘ as to leave 
poor Mary to struggle on alone with her four 
children? She always spoke cheerfully of 
her affairs, but I know how independent 
she is ; I ought to have come here and 
examined into them, and so have learned 
the true state of the case. She shall have 
no more such troubles while I live.” 

I fear, James, we have been living a 
very selfish life,” was Mrs. Hastings’s low 
reply ; for she too had been touched. The 
once proud woman astonished Mrs. Sanborn 


LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS. 169 

by the gentleness and tenderness of her 
greeting, so like that of a true sister, so 
different from that of former years. 

To Mary, the young housekeeper, the 
presence of such guests was an important 
matter. ‘‘ What can we have for tea was 
her first question. As usual, she turned to 
Cousin Sallie. 

Now, child, don’t you be over-anxious to 
have everything extra good for that proud 
woman. I know her of old ; I’ve seen her 
go sailing around this house looking down 
on your poor mother and all her belongings. 
What’s good enough for other folks is plenty 
good enough for her ; so don’t you fret.” 
Notwithstanding Cousin Sallie’s contempt- 
uous words, she did all she could to help 
Mary prepare a tempting meal for the 
tired travelers. 

Mary poured the tea with flushed cheeks 
and fluttering heart, while Mrs. Hastings’s 
mental comments were, How daintily nice 
everything is ! Mary presides like a little 
queen. Where did she learn her grace and 
politeness, hidden away as she is out here in 
the country ?” 


170 


SUNSHINE 3IARY 


“Isn't Aunt Lucy just elegant?" said 
Elsie to Mary when the two girls were 
once in their rooms. 

“ Yes, she is — so elegant that I'm afraid 
of her." 

“‘Afraid of her'! Oh, you little goose! 
I am not, one bit." 

“ I should think not, from the way you 
stared at her at the tea-table. Elsie, it was 
certainly very rude." 

“ I wanted to find out the color of her 
eyes, but I could not decide : sometimes they 
looked black, sometimes blue, and all colors. 
But they are really handsome, with their 
long eyelashes. Oh, I admire her. What 
beautiful language she uses ! How tall and 
graceful she is ! That rich dress of hers fits 
as perfectly as though it were a part of her- 
self. Then her lovely white hands, with 
their exquisite rings! I just love to watch 
them. She is a born lady. I had forgotten 
that we had such distinguished relations." 

“ Well, I do hope, Elsie, that you will be- 
have yourself, and not disgrace the family. 
Mother would be horrified at some of your 
ways." 


LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS. 171 

“ Oil dear ! propriety ! I wish there wasn’t 
such a thing. But you have enough for us 
both. You sat at the head of the table as 
dignified as though you had always been 
accustomed to the society of fine ladies.” 
Then, with an arch glance, ‘‘ Come,, now. 
Shiny, don’t look so solemn ; it’s not be- 
coming.” 

So Mary’s reproof of her sister ended in 
a laugh, as was very apt to be the case. 
But she lay awake some time wondering 
how she could ever keep saucy, black-eyed 
Elsie within bounds. The wayward little 
sister whom she so tenderly loved was often 
a great trial to Mary ; Elsie’s tongue was 
hard to curb. 

The Hastings’s residence was on a fash- 
ionable street of a large city. Here they 
had lived for many years, Mrs. Hastings the 
centre of a circle of cultivated friends and 
acquaintances, the idol of her husband’s 
heart. She was a gifted woman, intellectual, 
musical and handsome. Besides these gifts, 
her wealth and position fitted her to be a 
leader in the society in which she moved. 


172 


SUNSHINE 3IAE1\ 


Of course she was courted and admired, 
while Mr. Hastings was loved and respected 
for his geniality and uprightness. Their 
house was filled with everything rich and 
rare, all in exquisite taste. Two beautiful 
children — a son and a daughter — brought 
life and gladness into tlie dwelling, making 
the home complete. Yet was it complete ? 
Jesus had no abiding-place there ; the blessed 
Saviour had never been invited to tarry un- 
der that roof. To him as a welcome guest 
the door had never been opened ; he had in 
vain knocked for admittance. To be sure, 
the family had a pew in a genteel church, 
but it was seldom occupied. Indeed, to 
Mrs. Hastings, cant, ignorance and piety 
were almost synonymous terms. Mr. Has- 
tings had been religiously brought up, but 
the influence of the loved wife was un- 
bounded. Then, after being engrossed all 
the week with his business or with matters of 
public interest, he found it easier and pleas- 
anter to remain at home on Sundays and en- 
tertain his friends than to fill his seat in the 
house of God — that sacred place which in 
childhood he had loved. 


LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS. 


173 


Many years sped by — years of ha})piness 
to this prosperous family — when suddenl}^ 
the children were stricken with a malignant 
disease. Within a few weeks they both sick- 
ened and died. Then all was darkness. The 
mother’s heart was paralyzed ; it was as 
though a thick cloud had blotted out the 
sun. She had no divine Comforter to soothe 
her anguish ; she had never desired his pres- 
ence nor felt the need of his aid, yet she did 
not know how near he was to her bleeding 
heart, how ready to come at her call with 
his healing power. Ah ! is he not nigh to 
every heart in its extremity of sorrow or of 
sin, if the blinded eyes could only be opened 
to see the heavenly vision ? 

To Mrs. Hastings all the hope and joy of 
living was gone. Her elegant home grew 
hateful to her sight. She wandered through 
the handsomely-furnished rooms in an agony 
of rebellion and despair, mourning for her 
lost treasures, until her husband, alarmed 
for her health, proposed a trip to Europe. 
He arranged his business; they closed the 
desolate home and started for other lands, 
fleeing from scenes whose every association 


J74 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


brought a bitter pang. For two years they 
traveled from place to place, seeing all that 
was interesting and beautiful and striving 
to forget the past. But deep in Mrs. Hast- 
ings's heart lay the great sorrow, softened 
by time, but often unbearable. Over every- 
thing she saw there hung a* shadow; every 
sweet chime of bells was a requiem ; every 
cathedral or abbey was a monument of bur- 
ied hopes and joys. She found in the Old 
World, among different climes and people, 
the same sad tale often repeated — broken- 
hearted mothers, bereft of their children, 
sitting in their loneliness. One poor woman 
from whose arms death had snatched a love- 
ly babe awakened all Mrs. Hastings’s pity. 
She could not speak words of heavenly com- 
fort, but she could give sympathy ; and this 
she did most lavishly, as to a sister. With 
streaming eyes she listened to the recital of 
the lonely woman, then drew the young 
mother to her heart with a great tender 
compassion. It was a new experience for 
the haughty Mrs. Hastings, who had always 
held herself so completely aloof from those 
in humble life ; but sorrow had taught her 


LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS. 


175 


one sweet lesson — to “ weep with those that 
weep.” 

The returning to the deserted home after 
a long absence was like living over afresh 
all those days of bitterness. There were no 
welcoming voices ringing through the halls, 
no happy faces looking out from the win- 
dows to hail their coming. Every familiar 
article of furniture spoke of the lost ones. 
As Mrs. Hastings entered one room all she 
could see was a casket holding a beloved 
form ; all she could hear was the sound of 
a measured tread as the dear one was carried 
out from the home, never to return. 

Do you know what all this means? If 
you have lived through a like heartrend- 
ing experience, you can understand; but it 
is something that cannot be imagined. 

‘‘ I can never endure it — never,” were 
Mrs. Hastings’s words. How could she, 
with no divine Helper, no hope of reunion 
in heaven? Without this Friend, this hope, 
death is the blackness of darkness. 

They did not expect to remain long in the 
city, but Mr. Hastings was unavoidably de- 
tained for a few weeks. But for her dread 


176 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


of being separated from her husband, she 
would immediately have fled from the house 
which had grown to be a cage of misery. 
Then came Dr. Mason’s letter. Mrs. Hast- 
ings read it with brightening eyes. 

Oh, James,” she said, ‘‘ let us go to them 
at once. I remember those sweet children ; 
perhaps we can prevail upon one of them to 
return with us to cheer us in our desolation.” 
This was the secret of that unexpected visit 
which that summer afternoon surprised the 
dwellers in “The Nest.” 

“Dear Uncle James, how good you are!” 
exclaimed Mary, catching her uncle’s hand 
and covering it with kisses. 

They were sitting under the trees one 
evening about a week after the arrival of the 
visitors. Mary had been opening her heart 
to her uncle, telling him the exact state of 
their affairs, unburdening to him all her 
anxieties about ways and means and giving » 
him a clearer glimpse than even she imagined 
of all her struggles and trials during the past 
weeks. She could hardly understand after- 
ward how she did it, but Mr. Hastings had 



Unburdening the Heart 


Page 176 





i 

\ 




LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS. 177 

gradually drawn the story from her; then, 
as she said to Elsie, it seemed so easy to 
tell Uncle James; he is just like a father.’’ 

“ You dear child !” he had said, tenderly 
stroking the sunny head ; ‘‘ it was too much 
for one so young. How did you bear it 
all so bravely ?” 

Hard indeed it had been, but Mr. Hast- 
ings could not see what God saw — how much 
the experiences of those weeks had developed 
and strengthened Mary’s Christian character. 

‘‘I took it all to Jesus, uncle, many, many 
times in the day.” 

‘‘ You really think he helped you ?” and 
Mr. Hastings sighed. Was the sigh for a 
long- forgotten faith, or was it the expression 
of the thought that his own heart had often 
needed such help? 

‘‘Why, yes, uncle; I am sure he did. 
He made many things easy and answered 
so many of my prayers,” came Mary’s 
earnest reply. She thought of Clarence — 
of that dreadful night; but of this she 
could not speak even to Uncle James. 

Uncle James’s words of sympathy, his 
kindly assurance that henceforth she need 
12 


178 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


not worry her poor little head about unpaid 
debts and mortgages — that he would take 
all those troublesome matters into his own 
hands — drew from Mary her exclamation 
over his goodness. She herself had not 
understood how great had been the weight 
upon heart and brain until the burden was 
suddenly lifted by a strong arm ; then words 
could hardly express her relief and gratitude. 
Already Uncle James had done many kind 
things. Nellie was installed in the kitch- 
en, that “our little housekeeper may have 
some leisure thoughtfully and quietly he 
had provided for the table many luxuries 
which were a blessing to the invalid ; several 
times an easy carriage had appeared at the 
door to take Mrs. Sanborn to ride. With 
joy Mary noticed a new brightness and hope 
dawning on her mother’s pale face. As she 
thought of it all, sitting there in the twi- 
light, her eyes filled with thankful tears. 

As they started for the house Mary broke 
out again : 

“Oh, Uncle James, only see how lovely 
the sky is ! The world is so gloriously beau- 
tiful I” The sun had long been out of sight. 


LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS. 179 

but now he cast back a smile upon the fleecy 
clouds, lighting them up with wonderful 
tints and colors, crimson, pink and purple. 
‘‘God is so good to us. He loves us so 
tenderly ; he is better to us than the best 
earthly friend. Is he not ?” 

Mr. Hastings made no reply. Mary’s 
words of childlike love and trust bore a 
reproof to the man from whose heart God 
had been for so many years shut out. 

Mary slipped into her mother’s room that 
evening to repeat her uncle’s kind words. 
She had a fear that her mother might blame 
her for revealing so much of their family 
affairs, but Mrs. Sanborn’s only words were, 
“ Thank God ! thank God !” The sensitive 
independence that would once have made it 
very hard for Mrs. Sanborn to receive so 
much assistance was all gone. 

“And now you will get well, mother,” said 
Mary, joyfully, as she gave her a good-night 
kiss. A true prophecy it proved to be. 

Mrs. Hastings seemed easily to adapt her- 
self to the simple ways of the cottage-home, 
driving away all Mary’s anxieties lest “ the 
grand lady,” as Elsie called their aunt, 


180 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


would never be satisfied with their plain way 
of living. Where had Mrs. Hastings learned 
the art of so gracefully fitting herself into 
their quiet nook ? Mrs. Sanborn could well 
remember the time when her sister-in-law 
possessed no such gifts — when her haughty 
manners had made them all very uncom- 
fortable. 

Cousin Sallie’s feelings were greatly mol- 
lified toward the proud woman ” when she 
saw her gentleness and kindness to the sick 
one : 

“ Well, I do say for it, Mrs. Sanborn, she’s 
changed, that’s a fact: the Lord’s been a- 
dealing with her. Now, if she’d only open 
her heart and let him come in with his com- 
fort, she’d begin to find out the joy of liv- 
ing.” 

But it was to the children that the moth- 
er-heart of Mrs. Hastings went out with 
peculiar tenderness. She would entertain 
Arthur by the hour with pretty songs, sto- 
ries and legends. He soon learned to love 
her devotedly, hanging around her so con- 
stantly that Mary feared he would be an 
annoyance. But Mrs. Hastings never tired 


LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS. 


181 


of the little fellow’s companionship. Elsie 
found that her comical speeches would bring 
a smile to her aunt’s sad face and often pro- 
voke her merry laughter ; this was all the in- 
centive that Elsie needed to set her tongue 
in motion, especially at the table, keeping 
Mary in terror of some unfortunate speech. 
And Mary noticed the admiration and in- 
terest with which Mrs. Hastings’s eyes fol- 
lowed Clarence — the tall*, handsome brother 
— whenever he was at home. Mary felt 
sure, from the sorrowful, longing expression 
on her face, that Clarence reminded Aunt 
Lucy of the lost boy who, had he lived, 
would have been nearly Clarence’s age. 

But it was Mary herself that Mrs. Hast- 
ings was constantly watching and studying. 
The bright, merry girl was a puzzle to the 
softened yet still worldly woman. Where 
did Mary get her ladylike manners, her 
gentle dignity, her delicacy and refinement? 
Was not much of her time spent in home- 
ly household duties that to Mrs. Hastings 
seemed coarse and degrading? But another 
thing about Mary Sanborn was a still great- 
er source of wonderment to Mrs. Hastings. 


182 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


How could tills pretty, imaginative young 
girl be so happy and content in the hum- 
drum life she was leading, spending so 
much of her time in uncongenial duties 
and cares? 

“I cannot understand it,” Mrs. Hastings 
said to her husband ; “ it is not natural.” 

Mr. Hastings made no reply, but thought 
he could guess the secret of Mary’s happi- 
ness. 

Going up stairs one day, Mrs. Hastings 
found the door of Mary’s room standing 
invitingly open ; she strayed in and walked 
around, admiring the many little inexpensive 
devices for ornamenting it. ‘‘A genuine girl’s 
room, and all so pretty !” thought Mrs. Hast- 
ings; “Mary shows real taste and skill.” 
She paused at the small table by the window 
— Mary’s favorite seat — where were a vase 
of flowers and some books. Mrs. Hastings 
examined the books — a Bible, Bogatzky’s 
Golden Treasury, Earnest Thoughts for 
Emery Day and a little volume of religious 
poetry. 

“Oh, James, come here,” she called to 
her husband, “ and see what books this 


LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS. 183 

child reads! What is your sister thinking 
of, to allow it? It is enough to cloud a 
young girl’s life — to make her morbid and 
doleful. Such reading as this must be very 
depressing.” 

“ There is nothing very doleful about our 
Sunshine Mary” laughed Mr. Hastings ; ‘‘she 
is as happy as the day is long, full of life and 
fun, ready to effervesce on the slightest oc- 
casion. There she comes now, singing like 
a lark,” as Mary appeared in the door. — 
“ You see, Mary, we have taken possession, 
but I am going, and will leave you to the 
tender mercies of your aunt.” Evidently, 
the quality of Mary’s reading-matter did 
not horrify Uncle James. 

Mrs. Hastings was standing by the table 
and looking very sober : 

“Mary, do you read these books every 
day ?” 

“ Why, yes. Aunt Lucy ; I feel that the 
day is almost lost if I cannot find a little 
time to spend with these dear friends,” giving 
them a loving pat. “ Let me read you a few 
lines that comforted me many times while 
mother was sick : 


184 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


“ ‘ Make a little fence of trust 
Around to-day ; 

Fill the space with loving work, 

And therein stay. 

“ ‘ Look not through the sheltering bars 
Upon to-morrow : 

God will help thee bear what comes 
Of joy or sorrow.’ ” 

‘‘ That is very sweet/’ said Mrs. Hastings, 
watching Mary’s bright face as she read; 
‘‘ but, ray dear child, you ought to have a 
different style of reading from this. These 
books are not suitable for a young person ; 
you ought to be cultivating your intellect. 
They may be harmless, but they are not in- 
tellectually improving.” 

Mary was sober in a moment : 

“I know that I ought to be at study, 
and I wish I could be. For many weeks I 
have had no time for real intellectual work, 
and very little for reading anything except- 
ing my Bible.” 

Something like a sneer crept over Mrs. 
Hastings’s handsome features, 

“ Do you never read the Bible, Aunt 
Lucy ?” asked Mary. 

“ Oh yes, sometimes, just as I would read 


LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS. 


185 


any other literary curiosity. There are some 
beautiful things in the book — some that are 
not so beautiful ; but I should be very sorry 
to be confined to this class of reading : it is 
rather dwarfing.” 

Mary’s eyes opened wide ; she had never 
before heard the precious Bible spoken of in 
this way : 

But, Aunt Lucy, do you never go to the 
Bible for help?” 

Mrs. Hastings shook her head gravely and 
sadly. 

‘‘ But, Aunt Lucy, where do you go for 
comfort when trouble comes?” 

‘‘ Go, child ? Where do I go ?” and slie 
spoke almost fiercely. ‘‘I lie down in my 
misery and despair and pray for death.” 

Mary forgot everything in her sympathy 
for her aunt ; throwing her arms around 
Mrs. Hastings, she exclaimed. 

Oh, dear Aunt Lucy, there is One in 
heaven who can heal broken hearts ; why do 
you not go to him ?” 

‘‘ Mary, it is God, they tell me, who took 
away my treasures and stripped my life of all 
its joy ; how can I go to such a God ?” 


186 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


Yet he loves you more tenderly than 
you ever loved your children.’’ 

there is a God in heaven, Mary, he 
does not love me : he is angry with me.” 

Oh no, aunty ; he loves you — he does 
love you.” 

Mrs. Hastings, bursting into tears, has- 
tened to her own room, leaving Mary greatly 
excited and very sorry that she had recalled 
to her aunt’s mind all the bitter past — sorry, 
too, that she could not have shown the 
sorrowing heart what a blessed comforter 
Jesus is. ‘‘Mother would have known just 
what to say,” thought Mary. Before she 
went down stairs she offered a most earn- 
est petition to her Saviour, asking him to 
reveal himself to poor Aunt Lucy in all his 
tenderness and love. 

That night, as Mrs. Hastings lay awake, 
wrestling with her sorrow as she so often did, 
Mary’s words came to her mind : “ He loves 
you — he does love you.” She repeated them 
over and over to herself; they seemed to 
have a soothing effect, and soon she fell 
asleep. Was it not the Holy Spirit speak- 
ing to her soul? 


LIGHT IN THE DAEKNESS. 


187 


After this Mary^s fear of Aunt Lucy was 
all gone ; a great affection sprang up between 
these two hearts — an affection that lasted 
through all the coming years. 


CHAPTER X. 


SELF-QONSECRATION. 


NE Saturday evening Elsie came into 



^ Mary’s room, where she sat reading her 
Bible. On the bed lay her white dress. 

‘‘ Oh ! What is this for, Mary?” 

‘‘ 1 took it out to alter it, so that I might 
wear it to-morrow.” 

Oh yes ; I forgot — when you join the 
church. Graduation and consecration !” 

I think I should truly consecrate it, see- 
ing that mother made herself ill over it to 
gratify my vanity.” 

I hope you will look as pretty as you did 
that evening, and be as charming in the eyes 
of some people.” 

“Now, Elsie, that is abominable ! You 
shall not talk so ;” and Mary’s face flushed 
angrily. Then, with a swift movement, she 
caught Elsie in her arms, exclaiming, “ Oh, 
Elsie, how hard it is to leave you behind ! 


188 


SELF-CONSECRA TION. 


189 


Why will you not come with Clarence and 
me and enter God’s service?” 

“ I am not fit to come, and never shall 
be ; you know that very well.” Then, draw- 
ing herself away from Mary, Elsie left the 
room, closing the door with a bang. Mary 
feared that her appeal was worse than lost ; 
she never knew what bitter tears wet Elsie’s 
pillow that night. 

With a disturbed heart Mary returned to 
her reading. ‘‘If Elsie would not be so 
provoking, how thankful I would be!” she 
thought. “But, the poor dear girl! I must 
be more patient with her faults if I hope 
to win her to Christ.” 

Mary took up her diary and read over her 
birthday resolutions, thinking how many 
times she had broken them. Lately, as 
cares had been lightened and she had more 
time to herself, she had found how easy it 
was to go back to her old habit of day- 
dreaming. She read over some of her scrib- 
blings — scraps of prose or of rhyme con- 
taining many sweet and beautiful thoughts. 
“Surely this kind of dreaming cannot be 
wrong — not even a waste of time,” she 


190 


SUNSHINE 3rARY. 


thought. Mother must be mistaken ; I 
must ask Aunt Lucy’s opinion.” Yet Mary 
knew that those dreams of which she made 
herself the heroine must tend to foster 
pride and vanity,” as her mother had told 
her, and that those seeds of evil in her 
heart did not need cultivating, but rather 
to be pulled up by the roots. 

As she sat there looking into her own 
heart there came over Mary a sudden dread 
of the solemn step she was to take on the 
morrow. ‘^How do I dare to take such a 
step ?” she asked herself. “ How can I ever 
live as a Christian should, when I have so 
many grievous faults — a heart so full of sin 
and folly?” 

Then came the impulse to write out new 
resolutions, to make new pledges and prom- 
ises. ‘‘ But if I make them, I shall trust 
to them, I fear. Besolutions are like spi- 
der’s threads, to hold the soul ; I see that,” 
were her mental conclusions. “ I will just 
put myself into the hands of Jesus, trusting 
him to do for me what I cannot do for my- 
self, working in me to will and to do of his 
good pleasure. He can safely keep me in 


SELF-CONSECRA TION. 


191 


every temptation, making me just wliat I 
ought to be/’ With these thoughts came 
rest and peace. 

Happy Mary ! she was learning the lesson 
that many do not learn until they are old in 
the Christian life — that as we trust Jesus 
to forgive our sin, even so must we trust 
him by his Holy Spirit to break its power 
in our hearts and deliver us from its thrall- 
dom. It would sometimes seem that many 
of God’s dear children are blind to this 
sweet truth. They go staggering along 
under a load of guilt with bowed heads 
and heavy hearts until some new experience 
opens their eyes to the glorious light. Then 
the comforting assurance that Jesus saves his 
people from their sins — not only eternally, 
but here in this life — dawns upon the soul 
like a new revelation, giving liberty for 
bondage. Oh the pity that every Chris- 
tian heart could not always have the joy 
and the blessedness that come from this 
trust ! 

The next morning, when Mary stood be- 
fore the glass tying on her hat, neatly and 


192 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


tastefully completing her toilet, Elsie’s words 
on the previous evening rushed into her 
mind : I hope you will look as pretty as 

you did that evening, and be as charming.” 
Mary could not but see that it was a pretty 
face that looked out at her from the mirror. 
In an instant came the thought, Oh how 
vain, how foolish, I am, and, too, just as I 
am going to my first communion !” But 
with the quick perception of her own weak- 
ness there came to her mind the way of de- 
liverance that had been so clearly revealed 
to her the night before. I will take it 
right to Jesus,” she said; and, dropping on 
her knees, she asked the Saviour to forgive 
the sin and . drive away the tempter, and 
then went from her room with a glad and 
peaceful heart. 

Clarence and Mary are to unite with the 
church to-day ; I am going to the service. 
Do you not too feel like going, Lucy?” 
asked Mr. Hastings of his wife that Sab- 
bath morning. 

Mrs. Hastings was sitting on the piazza 
enjoying the beauty of the scene with a 


SELF-CONSECRA TION. 


193 


quietly happy face. But her expression 
changed in a moment at Mr. Hastings’s 
words : 

‘‘‘Unite with the church’? Those chil- 
dren? What folly!” 

“ I do not know about the folly, Lucy ; 
from a long talk I have just been having 
with Clarence, I begin to think it is a good 
thing for young people to do. I was brought 
up in that belief. Perhaps it would have 
been better for me if I had acted upon it 
when I was a young man.” 

“Oh, James,” said the wife, “do not talk 
so I” Then she turned away with a gesture 
of impatience, but not to enjoy the prospect. 
The charm was broken, and soon she went 
into the house. In the hall she met Mary 
ready for church and with a radiant face. 

“ Why, Mary, how bright you look 1” said 
Mrs. Hastings, breaking into a smile. 

“ I ought to look bright. Aunt Lucy : this 
is one of the most favored days of my life.” 

“ But, child, do you realize what you are 
about to do?” 

“Oh yes,” she replied, earnestly ; “ I have 
been thinking about it this long time. I 

13 


194 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


want to show my love for Jesus in this 
way/’ 

Mrs. Hastings made no reply, but went 
to her room, made a hasty toilet and was 
ready to join her husband in his walk to 
church. 

Mr. Hastings did not tell his wife how 
the after-breakfast family service of prayer 
and praise had impressed him ; she had ex- 
cused herself and left the room. Clarence 
was strongly tempted to omit the prayer 
when he saw his uncle remaining, but a 
brave look from Mary and a beseeching 
one from his mother made him ashamed of 
his cowardice ; he offered a humble, bro- 
ken petition that entered the ear of God 
and also touched Mr. Hastings’s heart. 

Mary was thankful for her strengthened 
faith as she walked to church that morning 
with Clarence, for he was often troubled by 
fears and doubts of his acceptance with God. 

“‘Now walk I free, secure of pardon : 

From sin and Satan’s weary burden 
I am redeemed,’ ” 

she repeated to him as they entered tlie 
church. And thus, leaning on the arm of 


SELF-CONSECRA TION. 


195 


their unseen Saviour and Friend, this brother 
and sister stood up before God and the world 
to consecrate their young lives and strength 
to Him who had redeemed them from the 
power of sin and death. To the worldly 
heart it might have seemed a small thing 
to do, but the angel in heaven who record- 
ed those sincere vows understood their full 
import — two hearts in their early spring-time 
devoting themselves to the love and service 
of God. What act of theirs could be more 
important, more far-reaching in its conse- 
quences ? 

It was a beautiful day ; the restful sounds 
of the departing summer stole in at the open 
window ; the bright sunshine flooded the 
church. Mary’s spirit was filled with a 
strange joy. She was sure that her dear 
father was there with them, rejoicing over 
his beloved children. When Mr. Abbott 
spoke of Christ’s great love for his people, 
Jesus seemed so infinitely precious to her that 
she wondered how she could ever have dread- 
ed to take any step that would show her love 
for him. 

There was gladness in many hearts that 


196 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


day, but not in that of Alice Perry ; she 
sat and watched the scene with a pained, 
almost an angry, feeling. Why need 
Mary Sanborn join the church, thus sep- 
arating herself from her best friend?” 
Alice felt that between herself and Mary 
a great barrier had that day arisen. More 
than once came the query, ‘‘Will Mary go. 
into heaven and I be left outside?” 

In Mrs. Sanborn’s pew many noticed the 
tall, closely-veiled lady who seemed so deep- 
ly moved. Once she raised her veil, when 
Clarence and Mary stood up as their names 
were read as having been admitted to the full 
communion of the church and the pastor 
welcomed them to the labors and services, 
the joys, and even the sorrows, of the Chris- 
tian life. Clarence and Mary Sanborn were 
now publicly numbered with the people of 
God. 

The theme of Mr. Abbott’s sermon was 
the love of God. Mrs. Hastings listened at- 
tentively ; it was very sweet and comforting 
for those who felt they had a share in such 
a heritage. How she wished she could be- 
lieve Mary’s words, “ God loves you ” ! Her 


SELF-CONSECRA TION. 


197 


weary heart yearned to rest itself in infinite 
compassion. She seemed to catch a glimpse 
of what such a rest might be; yet at the 
same moment she rebelled against a love 
and wisdom that could take from her her 
darlings. She remained through the com- 
munion service, but to her it had little 
meaning : the mystery of the cross she 
could not fathom. 

I am glad I went,’’ she said to her hus- 
band as they wended their way homeward ; 
‘‘some things were very solemn and beau- 
tiful. But do you suppose those children 
have any idea of what they have been 
promising? How can such young people 
keep such vows as those they have taken ? 
It is not possible ; it seemed dreadful to 
me.” 

Mr. Hastings made no reply, but his 
thoughts were busy. The Spirit of God 
was calling to him and awaking the emo- 
tions of his early years. There were pos- 
sibilities in the case that Mrs. Hastings did 
not understand : the strength and the grace 
that God will give his “ little ones ” that 
they may “ keep his commandments and 


198 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


walk in his ways ” were all undreamed of by 
the unbeliever. 

God can keep me, and he will : ‘ Let 

not 3mur heart be troubled, neither let it be 
afraid,’ ” were the thoughts that comforted 
Mary all that day, making her face to shine. 
Well might she and every other trembling 
disciple cast away fear and rejoice ; for hast 
thou not made a hedge about him ?” “Are 
not they well kept whom God keeps?” 

Around those children were cast the pow- 
er of a mother’s prayers. She could not be 
with them in the church, but in the quiet 
of her own room her earnest petitions as- 
cended to the God of the fatherless. She 
had expected to attend church that Sabbath 
for the first time since her illness, but she 
had been so fearful that her dear children 
might be deceived — might be taking a 
wrong step — that when the time came the 
anxiety and excitement had made her al- 
most sick. 

Cousin Sallie uttered peremptory com- 
mands : 

“You’ll just have to stay at home, rest 
your heart and stop your worry. Don’t you 


SELF- CONSECBA TION. 


199 


suppose the good Lord can take care of those 
children of yours ? Do you think he’ll let 
those lambs slip out of his hand? He’ll 
hold ’em tight till he lands them safe on 
Canaan’s happy shore. He’s promised it, 
and he’ll do it.” 

A smile broke over Mrs. Sanborn’s troubled 
face : 

“ I know it, Cousin Sallie ; you are right. 
I will not wrong him any more with wick- 
ed fears and doubts.” She went to her 
room to cast her burden on the Lord.” 
Soon she heard Cousin Sallie’s quavering 
voice singing snatches of an old anthem. 
These were the words that were wafted in 
to comfort the foreboding mother-heart: 

‘‘Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace 
whose mind is stayed on thee.” 


CHAPTEE XI. 

OUT FROM ‘‘THE NESTT 

T he summer was over and gone, but the 
early September days were hot and 
dry. The Hastings’s visit was drawing to 
a close. They intended to take a little trip 
before returning to the city, and also to spend 
a short time vvith friends who were still at 
the seashore. 

A few evenings before they were to take 
their departure, Mrs. Hastings went into 
Mrs. Sanborn’s room and proposed taking 
Mary with her to the city for the winter — 
a plan upon which she liad quite fixed her 
heart. 

“ You are very kind, but I could not 
possibly spare her; the thing is not to be 
thought of for a moment,” was Mrs. San- 
born’s decided reply. 

Mrs. Hastings urged the matter, but very 
200 


OUT FROM ^‘THE NESTJ 


201 


gently, setting forth the advantage it would 
be to Mary : 

‘‘We will take her with us to the seashore; 
Mary is wild to see the ocean.’’ 

Mrs. Hastings was not accustomed to hav- 
ing her requests denied, but she urged her 
invitation with much courtesy, though with 
earnestness; for she could understand what 
a trial it would be to her sister to part with 
Mary. 

To all Mrs. Hastings’s arguments, however, 
Mrs. Sanborn had but one reply : 

“ I cannot spare my daughter ; she is my 
sunshine, the very light of the house.” 

But when Mrs. Hastings burst into tears, 
exclaiming, “ You do not know how lonely 
my heart is — how utterly desolate is our 
home. You, who have four lovely children, 
can hardly imagine what it is to be left 
childless. Oh, lend me Mary for a few 
months, until I can get wonted to my 
changed home,” Mrs. Sanborn softened and 
gave her consent to the proposal. 

The next day the careful mother saw so 
many obstacles in the way that she was 
tempted to withdraw her promise. Mary 


202 


SUNSHINE 31 ARY. 


had no suitable wardrobe. To be sure, Mrs. 
Hastings said that Mary should be supplied 
with everything necessary, but proud, sensi- 
tive Mrs. Sanborn shrank from having her 
sister-in-law know how scanty was Mary’s 
supply of clothing. Receiving favors from 
Aunt Lucy and from the dear open-hearted 
brother were two very dijSerent things to her. 

Then the thought of parting with Mary 
revealed to Mrs. Sanborn how much of her 
happiness and comfort depended upon this 
loved daughter ; the more she dwelt upon it, 
the more impossible seemed the separation. 

But Dr. Mason favored the plan. 

‘‘ Mary has had a hard summer ; she is 
not so stout and rosy as she used to be. 
The change will do her good,” was his ver- 
dict. 

Cousin Sallie added her sharp word, as 
usual : 

“ Folks mustn’t be always thinking of 
themselves ; even these good mothers can 
be selfish sometimes.” 

Mrs. Sanborn’s eyes suddenly opened to 
the fact that she might be standing in the 
way of Mary’s good, and she made no more 


OUT FROM ^^THE NESTT 


203 


objections, but cheerfully and heartily ac- 
quiesced in the plan. 

Thus it happened that - into Mary San- 
born’s quiet life came the prospect of a win- 
ter in the city. To her it was a great event. 
She had not been from home since her fa- 
ther’s death ; indeed, she knew very little 
of the world outside of her native town. 
Then her dear uncle James had given her 
to understand that another fall she migiit 
enter the seminary, while Aunt Lucy prom- 
ised that during the winter she should have 
the very best opportunities for pursuing her 
music and any preparatory studies. Mary 
could hardly believe it possible that the lions 
that had stood in the way of her education 
could be so speedily slain. Added to this, 
the thought of all there was to be seen, 
heard and enjoyed in a great city made her 
heart beat with wild delight. In her joy 
she almost forgot the loneliness of those 
whom she must leave at home. 

Before Mr. Hastings’s departure the 
mortgage on the dear home-nest was all 
paid. 

“ Hurrah ! no more interest-money to be 


204 


SUNSHINE 31 ARY. 


raised for that miserable old mortgage !” 
shouted Elsie, throwing up her hat wlien 
Mary told her the good news. 

There were a gentle horse and an easy 
carriage in the barn, so that Mrs. Sanborn 
could take the air and Clarence could board 
at home and ride back and forth to his bus- 
iness. Indeed, before the horse was bought 
he had decided to live at home. Cousin 
Sallie was to stay with Mrs. Sanborn as 
long as she was needed. Everything was 
done for his sister’s comfort that the love 
of thoughtful Uncle James could suggest. 
Before Mary left home she had the joy of 
seeing a bright, cheerful light in her moth- 
er’s eyes ; the old careworn expression had 
fled ; health and strength were fast return- 
ing. Is there any medicine like hope? 

“ What a great black cloud has been lift- 
ed from the Sanborn family ! Prosperity 
for adversity ; Mary going to the city to be 
a grand lady ; we who are left behind to 
live in clover ! When will wonders cease ?” 
commented Elsie. 

“ We may thank good Uncle James for 
this prosperity,” said Mary. 


OVT FROM “THE NEST: 


205 


‘‘ But most of all we may thank our lov- 
ing Father in heaven/’ she thought; but this 
last she did not put into words. She was 
learning that it was not best to say those 
things to Elsie ; they were sure to elicit the 
response, Now, Mary Sanborn, don’t begin 
to preach,” or ‘‘ I don’t want to hear any 
cant.” ‘‘ Cant ” was a word that Elsie had 
borrowed from Aunt Lucy — a word that 
Mary hated to hear used when applied to 
a recognition of the goodness and loving- 
kindness of God, the Giver of all good. 

‘‘Yes, Mary; Uncle James is just splen- 
did, and so is our stately aunt Lucy. I 
hope they will continue on in the same good 
way until I am educated and fitted to go on 
the stage ; then I’ll snap my fingers at the 
world in general.” 

“ Oh, nonsense, Elsie ! Do not talk about 
going on the stage.” 

“ Shocked, are you, sister mine ?” laughed 
Elsie. 

But Elsie, with all her heedlessness and 
reckless speech, had a warm, loving heart. 
She rejoiced in all Mary’s good fortune as 
though it were her own, without showing 


206 


SUNSHTNE MARY. 


the slightest symptoms of jealousy. Noth- 
ing was ever too good for Queen Mary ” 
in Elsie’s estimation — not even the keenest 
of her own railleries. 

‘‘ Your new life will be full of perils, 
Mary,” said Mrs. Sanborn the evening before 
the departure. 

« < Perils,’ mother ! What perils can there 
be, with kind Uncle James and Aunt Lucy 
watching over me and doing for me?” 

Mrs. Sanborn smiled at Mary’s utter 
unconsciousness of danger: 

You will know them, child, perhaps, 
when they come. May you have grace to 
meet every temptation !” 

‘‘ I .know that uncle and aunt are not 
Christians, and yet I often think Uncle 
James must be one, he is so kind. But, dear 
mother, the Lord Jesus can keep me from 
doing wrong and help me in temptation.” 

‘‘ Yes, dear, he can ; and he will if you 
only do not let go of his hand. Close to 
him is the only place of safety.” 

“ I hope to do some good,” thought Mary; 
“ perhaps I can be a help to uncle and 
aunt.” 


OUT FROM ^‘THE NEST: 


207 


With this feeling in her heart, Mary San- 
born stepped out from her sheltered home 
into the great world which to her was an 
unknown land. 

It was a sorrowful group that watched 
the exit of the travelers from the cottage. 
While the trunks were being carried out, 
and Mr. and Mrs. Hastings and Mary were 
stowing themselves and their wraps away in 
the carriage, Elsie kept up the spirits of the 
company with her funny speeches. The 
last glimpse that Mary had of them, Arthur 
had taken his pet Maltese cat and was hid- 
ing his face in the soft fur — a way he had 
when he did not want any one to see his 
tears — while, from behind, Elsie was giving 
the cat’s tail a sly pull. Mary could imagine 
the explosion that would follow, while she 
herself burst into a hearty laugh that drove 
away the shadows from her face. 

After they were well out of sight Elsie 
rushed up to her room for a good cry, 
returning in a short time with traces of 
tears, but looking very bright and saying 
and doing all she could to cheer her mother. 

“ Mary’s going away may make a woman 


208 


SUNSHINE 3fARY. 


of harum-scarum Elsie,” was Cousin Sallie’s 
sage observation. 

At the station Mary found Clarence, Ray, 
Alice and other friends waiting to say 
‘‘ Good-bye,” Ray with a bouquet of ex- 
quisite flowers. There were the usual merry 
words of parting, the promises of remem- 
brance and friendship, that we hear among 
joyous young people. 

The most serious face that Mary had to 
leave that morning was that of her brother 
Clarence. He tightly held her hand in his, 
whispering, 

“Now, sister, write often, and don’t forget 
to pray for a poor lone fellow.” 

As though Mary would or could forget ! 

Our travelers went speeding away through 
a pleasant country, past towns and villages 
all new and interesting to Mary. She 
chatted gayly with Mr. and Mrs. Hastings 
until they both grew a little quiet and sleepy, 
then seated herself by a window to indulge in 
a delicious bit of a day-dream, wishing she 
dare take out her pencil and paper to jot 
down her musings by the way.” 

As the day wore on toward evening 


OUT FROM ‘‘THE NEST’ 


209 


suddenly there came over the little maiden, 
who was tired, hot and dusty, the most 
forlorn feeling — such a heartache ; a vision 
of the belo.ved group at home that she had 
left so far behind — the darling mother, sister 
and brothers whom she would not see again in 
six or seven long months, miles and miles 
between her and those precious ones. How 
could she ever endure the separation ? Her 
mind had been so filled with bright anticipa- 
tions that she had not realized it all until 
that moment. 

‘‘ What will mother — dear mother ! — do 
without me? Oh, if I could only be back 
there at home with them all, I would never 
leave them again — never!’’ was her heart-cry. 

Mary struggled to keep back the tears, 
but Aunt Lucy noticed the drooping head 
and divined the cause. Seating herself by 
Mary’s side, she entertained and diverted 
the homesick girl in the most charming 
way until they reached their journey’s end. 

At the station all was confusion, but Mary 
heard the roar of the ocean and caught a 
glimpse of the waves sparkling and dan- 
cing in the moonlight. 

14 


210 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


“ Oh how glorious it is !’^ she exclaimed 
to her aunt as they were whirling away to 
the hotel. 

‘‘Did you see the ocean, Mary? Your 
eyes are keener than mine.” 

Mary slept soundly that night, her only 
dreams being of foam-crested waves that 
seemed to be alive. The next morning all 
sorrowful thoughts of home and friends were 
forgotten in the joy of finding her dream a 
reality, and that from her window she could 
see those same ever-moving waves and hear 
their music as they broke upon the strand. 

That week by the sea was all too short to 
Mary — “The most delightful week of my 
life,” she wrote to her mother. She never 
tired of sitting or walking on the beach 
with Uncle James or alone watching old 
Ocean in his various moods. 

But most of all Mary enjoyed an hour 
with Aunt Lucy on the shore. She found 
that her aunt was full of poetic thoughts 
and fancies — like herself, an enthusiast over 
the sea. One afternoon which they spent 
together Mary never forgot. It was a per- 
fect day, the ocean being in one of its most 


211 


OUT FROM ^'THE NEST.” 

glorious moods. Such a variety of colors ! 
‘‘ Sometimes dark blue, then deep green ; 
no two waves the same tint,’’ said Mary. 
The vast expanse was flecked with sails, 
some scudding before the breeze, others ly- 
ing at anchor, others moving idly, “ like 
great white birds flapping their wings,” 
thought Mary. They sat there quietly en- 
joying the beauty and glory, when Mrs. 
Hastings commenced repeating some beau- 
tiful quotations. One commencing Thou 
glorious mirror, where the Almighty’s form 
glasses itself in tempests,” particularly im- 
pressed Mary. Then she broke out into 
Tennyson’s wail, 

“ Break, break, break,” 

reciting it with touching pathos, pouring out 
her very soul into the lines, 

“But oh for the touch of a vanished hand. 

And the sound of a voice that is still I” 

Mary did not look up, but she felt sure 
that her aunt’s eyes were full of tears : 

“ Aunt Lucy, ever since I have been here 
I have felt that the sea has a message for me 


212 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


— that every wave that breaks at my feet has 
something to tell me ; but I cannot find out 
what it is. You know what Longfellow says : 


“ ‘ Till my soul is full of longing 
For the secret of the sea, 

And the heart of the great ocean 
Sends a thrilling pulse through me.^ 


Did you ever have this feeling that the 
sea holds some secrets that you long to 
know ?” 

‘‘Ah, yes, Mary, very often. Especially 
since my children have left me, it seems as 
if these billows might tell me where they 
are, what they are doing, bringing me 
tidings from that great unknown land where 
my dear ones dwell. Often, when I watch 
the sails in the distance coming landward, 
the thought will dart through my mind, 
‘ Perhaps they bring my darlings back to 
me, or at least a message from them.’ And 
when the ships go out, I long to take their 
wings and search for my lost ones. If I 
only knew where to find them ! Oh, that 
far-away country ! Where can it be ? Can 
the sea tell ? Does it know the secret ?” she 


OUT FROM ^^THE NESTT 213 

said, stretching out her hands and looking 
wearily over the limitless waters. 

God knows all about it, aunty ; they’re 
safe with him. They cannot come to you, 
but you can go to them.” 

When ? when ? I am tired of wait- 
ing. God knows, to be sure; but in his 
infinitude he is like the mighty ocean : his 
might mocks my impotent grief.” 

“ But, dear Aunt Lucy, God is love as 
well as power.” 

‘‘ I wish I could believe it, but I cannot.” 

Mary longed to comfort her aunt, but she 
knew not what to say ; yet her simple words 
of trust, “ God is love,” were the very best 
that could have been spoken to the crav- 
ing, wounded, yet resisting, heart. 

Then Mary turned the conversation by 
asking her aunt if she thought day-dream- 
ing wrong — a subject about which she had 
long been wanting to ask Mrs. Hastings’s 
opinion. 

« Wrong ’? Why, no, child ; how can it 
be? If we are blessed with an imagination, 
it was given us to use. You have this gift, 
I think; you must cultivate it for the pleasure 


214 


SUNSHINE 3IABY. 


ifc will afford yourself and others. It is a 
wonderful creative power, for which we may 
well be thankful. Then it helps us to get a 
distinct conception of all that we hear vividly 
described; it is the photographer of the mind 
to catch and retain pictures. Use it for this 
as well as for inventing your own fanciful 
images ; try to obtain lifelike impressions of 
all that you see or hear described — beautiful 
scenes or places ; then put that impression 
into the best English you can command. 
Form the habit of giving pen-pictures.’’ 

Then Mary confessed to her aunt her 
habit of castle-building, of often making 
herself the heroine of her dreams, and asking 
if this was not a waste of time and repeating 
her mother’s words about pride and vanity. 

A slightly scornful expression flitted across 
Mrs. Hastings’s face : 

‘‘ Certainly one making a Christian pro- 
fession ought not to spend much time in 
dreaming of herself.” 

know. Aunt Lucy, that I ought not to 
do it ; yet I often do.” 

“You certainly are honest, Mary,” was 
replied, in a softened tone. “ I suppose a 


OUT FROM “THE NESTJ 


215 


young girl can be excused for a little castle- 
building in regard to her own future, but 
imagination is too priceless a gift to be 
devoted to ignoble purposes. Keep it pure 
and healthy ; use it for the best and high- 
est ends.” 

Mary thanked her aunt, feeling that she 
had gained some light on this question, and 
catching the distinction between the proper 
and the improper use of the power of 
imagination. 

The sun was nearing the horizon ; the tide 
was rapidly corning in, and the white-crested 
waves chased Mrs. Hastings and Mary from 
their seats. Laughingly they retreated to 
the hotel, Mary casting back admiring 
glances upon the brilliant waters and prom- 
ising herself the pleasure of coming in the 
evening with Uncle James to enjoy the 
moonlight. On their return Uncle James 
completed the happiness of the afternoon 
by bringing Mary a long letter from home. 
She hastened to her room to read it before 
tea. It was a joint-letter from her mother 
and Elsie. ‘‘Mother’s part is short and 
sweet,” said Elsie ; and very sweet it proved 


216 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


to be to the loving daughter. Tlie tears 
would start as Mary read those words of 
tenderness and affection, but Elsie’s rollick- 
ing account of home-matters drove away the 
sorrowful thoughts. She gave a funny de- 
scription of all the household, from the 
mother to the new horse and the cat, inter- 
spersing all kinds of droll remarks. 

Mary’s merry laughter brought Mrs. Hast- 
ings from the next room to enjoy the fun. 

‘‘ Elsie’s pictures are always of the comic 
kind,” said Aunt Lucy. 

In one corner of Elsie’s sheet, in a small 
hand, as though ashamed of having them 
seen, were these words : ‘‘ I wish I were a 
Christian. Do you think God can forgive 
such a bad girl as I am?” 

Mary did not notice this sentence until 
she gave her letter a second reading, just 
before retiring. 

“ Poor dear Elsie !” she exclaimed ; how 
gladly he will forgive !” Her prayer for 
Elsie that night was more hopeful and 
earnest than ever. 

There was only one day of that happy 
week that Mary did not enjoy : that was the 


OUT FROM ‘^THE NESTJ 


217 


Sabbath. It occurred two days before the 
party left the beach. It w^as late in the 
season, and most of the hotels and cottages 
were closed ; but many of Mrs. Hastings’s 
city friends still lingered at the house where 
they were stopping. Among these friends 
were some pleasant young people whom 
Aunt Lucy was very glad to have Mary 
meet, so that she might have some acquaint- 
ances when she reached her winter-quarters, 
and not be made homesick by finding herself 
a stranger in a strange city. Mary, bright, 
pretty and Mr. Hastings’s niece, found her- 
self the object of many polite attentions. 
She received them a little shyly at first, 
but soon became very much at ease with 
her new friends, entering with spirit into 
all the enjoyments of the place. 

Mrs. Hastings closely watched her, soon 
discovering that she need have no fear that 
Mary would do anything unladylike or 
unbecoming. She saw, also, that she had 
reason to be proud of her niece even when 
comparing her with these young people 
who had had every social advantage. 

To yachting-parties, walks, rides and 

19 


218 


SUNSHINE 3IARY. 


excursions of every kind Mary was invited ; 
so that she found every hour happily oc- 
cupied. 

- ‘‘ ‘ Miss Sanborn ’ seems to be in great 
demand/’ laughed Uncle James, pinching 
her cheek. These cheeks are growing fat 
and rosy again.” 

One sad discovery Mary was not slow in 
making: none of these pleasant people loved 
the Lord Jesus. They had no sympathy 
with her in her purpose to love and serve 
him ; of this she felt sure. It seemed very 
strange to her, but she had little time to 
think in this gay whirl of summer life. It 
was often late at night before she reached 
her room, and then she was too tired and 
sleepy to read much or to offer more than a 
short prayer. In the morning she slept late; 
she was not used to such dissipation, while 
the salt air increased her drowsiness. She 
had to hasten in her dressing, and often was 
not ready when her uncle and aunt called for 
her to go down for breakfast, and so had to 
leave her room without a moment for prayer. 
But she looked forward to the Sabbath as 
the day when slie could have a little time to 


OUT FROM ^^THE NEST” 219 

herself — could attend church and fix her 
mind on better things, not dreaming that 
there might be no church to attend. 

That morning breakfast was later than 
usual, while Mary was up earlier; so that she 
had plenty of time for reading and prayer. 
But her mind was full of other things ; she 
could not control her thoughts : all that she 
had been seeing and doing during the week 
would come crowding into her memory. 
Finally, she laid aside her books and ran 
down to the beach to have a ‘‘ talk with the 
sea’’ all by herself. To Mary the ocean 
seemed God’s voice speaking to her soul. 
That morning, as it beat upon the shore in 
all its grandeur, it had a special message 
telling of God’s infinite power and glory. 
How little and mean appeared many things 
that had been occupying her attention the 
past few days compared with things heavenly 
and divine ! She wondered how so many of 
the people whom she had met could walk by 
the sea and talk only of frivolous things. 
Then, on the shore, she looked up into 
the face of her God, returning to the house 
with an elevated spirit. When she joined 


220 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


Mr. and Mrs. Hastings at the breakfast-ta- 
ble, there was a light in her face that made 
Uncle James give her the old pet name : 

“ Well, Sunshine Mary, you are happy 
this morning, without doubt.’’ 

After breakfast Mary asked her aunt 
where they would attend church. 

There is no church here, so far as I 
know,” was the answer. 

‘‘ Then I suppose they have service in the 
parlors ?” 

“ 1 think not,” was the reply of her aunt, 
with an amused expression on her face at 
Mary’s look of dismay. 

Mary was sorely disappointed ; but she 
went to the office and made some inquiries, 
returning to her aunt in a few moments : 

“ Oh, Aunt Lucy, there is a meeting down 
in the grove — only a short walk from here.” 

“ But you must not go to that place ; that 
I cannot allow,” was said, in a very decided 
tone. 

Mary kept quiet, but her heart rebelled 
against her aunt’s decision. Mrs. Hastings 
had been so thoughtfully kind ever since 
Mary left home, providing for all her niece’s 


OUT FROM ^‘THE NESTJ 


221 


wants ill such a motherly wa}’’, that it hardly 
seemed right to oppose her in this matter. 

Mrs. Hastings noticed the displeased look 
on Mary’s face, and afterward remarked to 
her hu.sband, 

“ I fear our Mary is a little fanatic.’^ 

If Mary wants to go to that meeting, I 
will accompany her. You should not inter- 
fere with her religious ideas, Lucy.” 

“I do not intend to, but I cannot allow 
her to make herself ridiculous. It is a 
shame to have a young girl’s head filled 
with such queer notions.” 

I do not know about their queerness ; 
Mary is wiser than we in these things, I 
imagine.” 

Mary was soon surrounded by her young 
friends. In their pleasant fun and talk she 
forgot her annoyance. Before she dreamed 
of it the dinner-bell sounded through the 
halls ; her precious Sunday morning was 
lost. 

After dinner Mary was standing on the 
piazza with Aunt Lucy and Mrs. Webster, 
one of Mrs. Hastings’s friends. Mary was 
just planning a retreat to her room, when 


222 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


young Mr. Evans came and invited her to 
take a drive on the beach. 

Mary colored and hesitated, but Mrs. 
Hastings spoke at once : 

‘‘Of course; she will be glad to go. I 
give my permission before it is asked.’’ 

“ But, Aunt Lucy, I cannot go ; I do not 
care to go,” in a low tone. 

The young man heard only Mrs. Hast- 
ings’s words ; he bowed and smiled, then 
hurried away to see that his turn-out was 
made ready. 

“ Nonsense, Mary ! do not be foolish,” 
said Aunt Lucy ; while Mrs. Webster re- 
marked, 

“Mr. Evans belongs to one of our first 
families ; he is a very fine young man. Miss 
Sanborn may well feel flattered by his atten- 
tions.” 

The carriage was soon at the door. Mrs. 
Hastings threw a light wrap around Mary, 
and before she had time to realize what she 
was doing she found herself driving toward 
the shore. Once on the beach, her spirits 
rose. It could not be very wrong to be out 
there with the glorious ocean, even if it was 


OUT FROM ‘^THE NEST^ 


223 


Sunday. How beautiful it was! She was 
glad Aunt Lucy made her come, and gave 
herself up to a silent enjoyment of the scene 
or chatted gayly with her companion. 

Some distance had been passed when sud- 
denly it flashed upon Mary that the horse 
was going at a fearfully rapid pace — faster 
and faster, it seemed, while Mr. Evans’s 
grasp on the reins was very weak. Then, 
as she turned her head to speak to him, 
there came to her the sickening odor of 
liquor, which instantly carried her back to 
that night of horror when Clarence came 
home intoxicated. The revulsion almost 
made her faint. 

‘‘Your horse is growing unmanageable, 
Mr. Evans,” she exclaimed. 

“Oh no, not in the least,” was his con- 
fident assertion. 

But his utterance was not very distinct, 
Mary imagined. “ He has certainly taken 
too much wine,” she thought ; for she had 
noticed that these young men of fashion 
always had wine at dinner. 

“ Mr. Evans, I insist upon at once return- 
ing to the hotel.” 


224 


SUNSHINE iMARY. 


‘‘Oh no, no! not so soon. That would 
spoil all our fun.’’ 

Mary rode a few moments longer in terror, 
and then grasped the reins in spite of Mr. 
Evans’s feeble resistance. She knew little 
about driving, but her muscles were strong 
and her will was firm, and soon she succeeded 
in quieting the horse, then turned and drove 
home, never speaking until she sprang from 
the carriage at the door. 

With cheeks burning with indignation, 
Mary rushed into her aunt’s room and 
poured out her story. 

Mrs. Hastings was very angry : 

“ It cannot be possible, Mary ; you must 
be mistaken.” 

“I am not mistaken. But it was a just 
punishment for me: I had no business to 
go out to drive on Sunday. I very well 
knew that it was a wrong thing for me to 
do.” 

Mary spent the remainder of the after- 
noon in refiection and in writing to her 
mother a long, penitent letter : 

“ I see now, dear mother, what you meant 
by the perils in my new life; I see, too, that 


OUT FROM ^^THE NEST! 


225 


I must not for one moment let go of the un- 
seen Hand if I would walk in the right path. 
Oh, I did not know that I was so weak and 
foolish.’’ 

After tea Mary took a quiet walk on the 
shore with Uncle James, telling him some 
of her troubles and revealing more of her 
heart than she supposed. She instinctively 
felt that she would receive more sympathy 
from him in religious matters than from 
her aunt. 

When they returned to the house, a few 
people were gathered around the piano in 
one of the parlors, singing sacred songs. 
Mary heartily joined in the music, thank- 
ful to find Christian hearts in the hotel 
even if they did not belong to ‘‘our own 
set.” 


15 


CHAPTER XII. 


TEMPTATIONS IN PROSPERITY. 
NOTHER day or two of delight by the 



^ sea, and then Mary had to say Good- 
bye ” to the glorious ocean that during her 
short stay she had learned to love so dearly. 
In her journal were scraps of poetry and 
descriptions that she had treasured up — 
“just for my own eyes,” she said ; but to 
Elsie she wrote : “ I cannot give you much 
of an idea of the ocean ; it is too vast, too 
mighty and too grand for me to attempt to 
describe. To know what it is you must see 
for yourself yet in her soul she carried 
away the music and the glory, and some 
of the lessons of God’s power, love and care 
which the sea has to teach to the spirits of 
men if they will only listen and strive to 
comprehend. Regretfully she took her last 
look, as though parting with a dear friend ; 
yet down in her heart she was glad that 


226 


TEMPTATIONS IN PROSPERITY. 227 

they must go before the coming of another 
Sabbath. The lesson taught by that day’s 
experience she did not forget. ‘‘ I must be 
very decided in religious things,” she 
thought. She had had a revelation of her 
own weakness and of her danger; some- 
times she feared when she imagined all the 
temptations that might come to her during 
the winter, but the words, ‘‘I can do all 
things, through Christ which strengtheneth 
me,” put to flight all her anxieties. 

The trip homeward was a continuation of 
pleasures, so many places of interest were 
stopped at, and Mary seeing so many things 
that were new and beautiful to her young 
eyes. 

Mary tried to follow Aunt Lucy’s advice to 
get a vivid impression of all she saw, and 
then to describe it in the best language she 
could command. 

“ Give full play to your powers, only be 
sure to convey a perfectly correct idea of 
what you describe. Be true ; that is the only 
limit you need put upon your fancy,” said 
Aunt Lucy. 

Some of the pen-pictures that Mary sent 


228 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


liome were a great delight to the little circle 
there. 

‘‘ We have all been traveling/’ declared 
Elsie, after reading aloud one of Mary’s 
letters. ‘‘ Mary has had had all the dust, 
the heat and the tire: we have had only 
the entertainment.” 

It was late one rainy evening in Octo- 
ber when the Hastings party reached their 
home. Mary was tired and sleepy — too 
sleepy to pay much attention to her surround- 
ings. She only imagined that she must be 
in Fairyland, everything was so beautiful to 
her un traveled eyes. After tea she was glad 
immediately to retire to the room that was to 
be her own during her stay. Aunt Lucy 
herself escorted her, opening closets and 
drawers to show her where to put her things, 
and lavishing many kisses upon her before 
leaving the room. 

Mary wondered a little at this after her 
aunt was gone : it was something unusual for 
the self- restrained lady ; but Mary was too 
sleepy to think about anything, and soon 
was in a dreamless slumber. 


TEMPTATIONS IN PROSPERITY. 229 

The sun had been up a long time when 
Mrs. Hastings tapped lightly at Mary’s 
door. Receiving no answer, she entered 
and seated herself beside the sleeping girl, 
gently stroking her head. 

The brown eyes opened in a moment : 

“ Oh, Aunt Lucy ! Is it very late ?” 

“ No, not very late,” laughed Aunt Lucy. 
“I hated to disturb, you when you were 
sleeping so soundly. I want to tell you how 
glad I am to have you here. You must try 
to feel at home and to take a daughter’s 
place. This was my Annie’s room ; now 
that you occupy it, I almost imagine that 
my lost one has returned.” Mrs. Hastings’s 
voice trembled and her lip quivered. 

In an instant Mary’s arms were around 
her aunt’s neck : 

‘‘ Oh, Aunt Lucy, I will be a daughter to 
you and try to make your home bright as 
long as I stay.” 

While Mary was dressing she was admir- 
ing the lovely blue room, with all its con- 
veniences and comforts, that was to be her 
own for some months. A pretty picture of 
Cousin Annie stood on the bureau — the sweet 


230 


SUNSHINE 31 ARY. 


face of a fair young girl that Mary re- 
membered distinctly. Many tasteful little 
things in the room and on the walls Mary 
felt sure were Annie’s own work. jSio money 
had been spared in making the apartment 
delightful — -just the gem of a place to be 
the joy of any girl’s heart, especially of 
one who possessed such a love of the beau- 
tiful as did Mary. Then there arose in her 
breast a desire to consecrate her new sanctum 
and all her joys to Him who was so abun- 
dantly blessing her life. It was a very thank- 
ful, earnest prayer that she offered that morn- 
ing; especially did she ask that she might 
be a joy in the saddened lives of her uncle 
and her aunt. 

How about the dangers ?” something 
seemed to whisper as she was leaving the 
room. 

“ ^ What time I am afraid, I will trust in 
thee,’ ” was Mary’s reply. 

Mary did not know what a light her ra- 
diant face carried into the breakfast-room 
that autumn morning, nor how her merry 
ripple of laughter, her chat and her fun 
enlivened the meal. 


TEMPTATIONS IN PROSPERITY. 231 

What a mission of cheer have these fresh, 
hojDeful young spirits to those who are weary, 
perhaps almost crushed by the weight of 
sorrow and care that life’s long journey 
often brings! But, alas! sometimes the 
young forget. With darkened, fretful faces 
they cloud the hearts and the homes which 
it ought to be their joy to brighten. A 
darkened face is always a sad sight ; but if 
that face is young, it is most pitiful to see. 

The home of Mr. and Mrs. Hastings ap- 
peared like a paradise to our simple country- 
girl as with her aunt she wandered over the 
beautifully-furnished rooms. All was ele- 
gant and in perfect taste. The velvet car- 
pets were soft to the foot ; the long mirrors 
reflected their figures at every turn ; the 
colors were all rich and subdued ; many of 
the pieces of carved furniture were quaint 
and odd. But it was the fine pictures and 
the lovely statues over which Mary was 
most enthusiastic. Then, in the library, the 
fine selection of books and the choice en- 
gravings promised her many a treat, while 
the rare and curious things from other lands 


232 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


would certainly while away many pleasant 
hours. Indeed, this wonderful dwelling ap- 
peared to Mary to have endless resources 
for pleasure and for profit. Then, with 
cultivated, intellectual Aunt Luc}^ to explain 
and stimulate to inquiry, what could be more 
charming? That morning’s ramble through 
the house, with Mary’s girlish interest, ad- 
miration and incessant questions, beguiled 
Mrs. Hastings from her sad thoughts, mak- 
ing her home seem brighter and pleasanter 
than at any time since the children had 
died. 

After a few days of sightseeing, Mary 
commenced work in good earnest ; lessons 
in music, painting and French, with some 
more practical studies, occupied her time. 
Her ambition was soon aroused to make 
the best use of such rare opportunities, 
but Mrs. Hastings was careful to keep her 
from too hard work. 

Mary’s admiration for Aunt Lucy grew 
more and more unbounded as she watched 
her entertaining company, presiding at her 
own table with so much dignity or moving 
around her elegant parlors with the grace 


TEMPTATIONS IN PROSPERITY. 233 

of a queen. She had to admit to herself 
that often there were a pride and a haugh- 
tiness in her aunt’s manners toward others 
that greatly differed from the manners of 
her own dear mother; yet Mary thought 
they but added to the charm of Aunt 
Lucy. To her loved niece Mrs. Hastings 
showed only the tender, motherly side of 
her nature. Just before going to bed she 
often came into Mary’s room for a little talk, 
looking very handsome in her wrapper, with 
her mass of dark hair loosened from its coil. 
At these times the sorrowful woman opened 
her heart to the gladsome girl, telling her 
many things about the precious children 
who were gone. Yet sometimes she spoke 
so bitterly of the Being who, as she ex- 
pressed it, had robbed her of all happiness 
that Mary was frightened. How she longed 
to make her aunt understand how good and 
loving God is, how ready to help and to com- 
fort ! Mary loved Uncle James with all her 
heart. He was constantly doing kind things 
for her. Both he and his wife were all the 
time planning ways to add to her happiness. 
Many pleasant young people called, ready to 


234 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


overwhelm her with invitations and atten- 
tions of all kinds, but Mrs. Hastings was 
too wise to allow her young niece to be 
drawn into the vortex of gay society. 

Mr. Evans did not call. Mary rather 
hoped he would ; she had a wicked desire 
to give him ‘‘one good snubbing.” But 
either the young gentleman was too keen or 
Mrs. Hastings had given him a polite hint 
that his presence would not be acceptable. 

“ In this beautiful home, surrounded by 
such kind friends, with ample opportunity 
for improvement and with everything to 
make life delightful, I ought to be the 
happiest girl living,” Mary often thought. 
Daily she thanked God for his good gifts. 
Yet in it all there was something wanting. 
What could it be? Her best Friend had no 
abiding-place there ; the people whom she 
met did not seem to know this Friend and 
had no sympathy with her if she attempted 
to speak of the things she most loved. 
At times this gave her an isolated, lonely 
feeling. 

Once, soon after her arrival, when there 
was young company at the house, circum- 


TEMPTATIONS IN PROSPERITY. 235 

stances seemed to demand that Mary should 
show her colors ; she was so fearful of deny- 
ing her Saviour that her words and her 
manner were so decided that they brought 
her a reproof from Aunt Lucy — given, it is 
true, in a very gentle way : 

Mary, you must be careful not to make 
your religion offensive/’ 

Even Uncle James appeared a little 
changed now that he was back in the city 
with old friends and full of business. Mary 
could not talk to him about some things as 
freely as she did when they were in the 
country ; she imagined that he was not so 
much interested in them. And she was 
right; the blinding world was regaining its 
old power, dimming his sight as to spiritual 
truths. 

The Sabbaths were the days when Mary 
most felt this want and loneliness. The first 
Sunday morning after her arrival she went 
to church with Mr. and Mrs. Hastings, little 
dreaming that they attended that day solely 
on her account. She was delighted with the 
beautiful church and the fine music, while 
the service she thought very solemn and 


236 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


impressive. In the afternoon Aunt Lucy ad- 
vised a good nap, after all the excitement 
of the week, and this Mary was very glad to 
take ; but first she wrote a letter to Clarence. 
A few days before, she had received one from 
him expressing great discouragement: 

“ Temptations are so many and so great ! 
You do not know anything about it, Mary. 
Hov7 I wish you were at home ! I cannot 
and will not trouble poor mother with my 
difiiculties. Sometimes I fear I must fail.’’ 

In her reply Mary tried to inspire him 
with some of her own faith and courage. 

“ ‘ Wait on the Lord, and he shall 
strengthen thine heart.’ God will do for 
you what you are powerless to do for your- 
self, if you will only trust him,” were her 
words of hope and cheer to the brother 
she loved. 

In the evening Uncle James asked her 
to sing some hymns, and that made it 
seem homelike. Altogether, the day was 
a very pleasant one. 

But the next Sabbath, although Uncle 
James went with her to church, Mary felt 
sure that he did not care to go. Then the 


TEMPTATIONS IN PROSPERITY. 237 

novelty was worn off a little ; the service 
seemed more formal. She was astonished 
to see so many around her uttering the sol- 
emn words in such a thoughtless, irreverent 
manner, although with some she was certain 
it was the outpouring of the heart. Her 
own eyes and heart would wander. She 
longed for dear Mr. Abbott’s earnest coun- 
sels and the quiet little church at home. 

When once in her room after luncheon, 
Mary had time to think : No Sunday- 
school, no prayer-meetings, no Christian 
friends and no good mother to give counsel 
and warning.” How could she endure this 
for months? Another thing that troubled 
her was her own vain thoughts all through 
the sermon that morning. During the week 
Mrs. Hastings had been providing her niece 
with a very appropriate and handsome fall 
and winter outfit. It touched Mary’s pride 
a little to receive so much ; yet she could 
but be delighted, for she had all a young 
girl’s love for beautiful clothes. Then it 
was so kindly done, seeming to give Aunt 
Lucy as much pleasure as it did herself; so 
Mary received all gratefully and gracefully. 


238 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


She went to church that morning feeling 
that never in all her life had she been so 
prettily and so becomingly dressed. Every- 
thing matched ; it was all just to her taste, 
from the dainty hat and gloves to the 
perfectly-fitting boots. Mary had to admit 
that her thoughts were much occupied with 
her dress, comparing her own attire with 
that of some of her young-lady acquaint- 
ances who were in church. The short 
sermon might have been very good indeed ; 
the only part she could recall was the text. 
Surely she had been preoccupied. The 
more she thought about it all, the worse it 
appeared. Evidently, the only religious 
privilege she would have would be to attend 
this grand church, and even this she could 
not do without putting some one to incon- 
venience. 

In the midst of her meditations there came 
surging into Mary’s heart that dreadful feel- 
ing of homesickness. She had hardly had 
a twinge of it since that day in the cars. 
Oh to annihilate time and distance and be 
once more in her own blessed home amono: 
her loved ones ! ‘‘ How can I live without 


TEMPTATIONS IN PROSPERITY. 239 

nay darling little mother?” she exclaimed. 
What did she care for all these elegances, 
compared with her own Christian home and 
friends? The tears came with a flood ; she 
cried and cried, utterly unable to shake off 
the forlorn, desolate feeling. 

Uncle James noticed the red, swollen eyes 
as she entered the dining-room, but he made 
no inquiries, as there were guests to din- 
ner that evening — some gentlemen-friends. 
One of these was seated next to Mary. The 
dinner was rather more elaborate than usual ; 
wine was brought on the table for the first 
time since Mary had been with them. The 
servant filled Mary’s glass. 

May I drink to your health, Miss San- 
born?” asked her neighbor, politely taking 
up his glass. 

‘‘ I never drink wine,” replied Mary, 
brusquely. 

The gentleman smiled : 

“ Do you decline from choice or from 
principle ?” 

‘‘From both,” was the rather short an- 
swer. 

“ Indeed ?” with an arching of the eye- 


240 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


brows; then he directed the conversation into 
another channel. 

Mary glanced toward her aunt. Mrs. 
Hastings was looking at her with that con- 
temptuous curl on her lips that Mary always 
disliked to see ; evidently, Aunt Lucy was dis- 
pleased. 

Mary felt the tears ready to start, then 
she grew indignant. ‘‘ What right has she 
to dictate to me in such a matter ? She is 
not my mother. I know better than she 
does what is right or wrong for me to do,” 
were some of her thoughts. 

Soon the gentleman rallied her again in 
a teasing way : 

Can I not persuade you to ioin me in a 
glass?” 

Mary was now angry : 

‘‘ Have I not told you, sir, that I never 
drink wine ? I think it is a shame for any 
one to put it on the table.” The moment she 
had spoken Mary knew she had said a very 
rude thing. 

This time there was a flash in Aunt 
Lucy’s eye, but no more was said on the 
subject. 


TEMPTATIONS IN PROSPERITY. 241 

As soon as possible Mary escaped to her 
own room, there to spend a wretched even- 
ing. She tried to pray, but did not succeed 
in ridding herself of the load that lay on 
her heart. She went early to bed, and cried 
herself to sleep. 

Mary never knew that Mrs. Hastings 
slipped away from the company to see what 
had become of the “forlorn maiden,” nor 
did she feel the affectionate kiss her pity- 
ing aunt had imprinted on the tear-stained 
face. 

Mrs. Hastings had been greatly annoyed 
with Mary at the table; still, she admired 
the bravery of so young a girl in daring so 
decidedly to express her convictions. This 
fire in Mary, who was generally so sweet 
and gentle, astonished Mrs. Hastings. In 
her heart she was glad to see in her niece 
evidences of spirit. “ Tame ” people were 
Mrs. Hastings’s great abhorrence ; in her 
eyes meekness was almost as unpardonable 
as was rudeness. “ Blessed are the meek ” 
she did not comprehend. How could she? 
She had never been taught by the meek 
and lowly One. 

16 


242 


SUNSHfNPJ MARY. 


The next morning, when Mary awoke, 
everything had taken on a brighter hue. 
The gloom and homesickness of the previous 
evening had vanished ; the new day brought 
new hope and new courage. 

Mary thought it all over while she was 
dressing, wondering how she could have 
been so foolish and so distrustful : “ God 

can take care of me and of all my ‘ belong- 
ings,’ as Cousin Sallie says. I am his dear 
child ; he will never forsake me.” The 
thought made her heart leap for joy. The 
only sore spot that remained was the recol- 
lection that she had been rude even in doing 
right, and had displeased her kind uncle 
and aunt. ‘‘ I am glad I refused the wine, 
but I wish I had done it a little differently,” 
she thought. ‘‘ I ought not to have said what 
I did about wine on the table ; that was a 
reflection upon my dear, kind friends.” 

When Mary entered the breakfast-room. 
Uncle James was sitting by the open fire 
reading his paper. He looked up at her 
-^a little sternly, Mary thought; but when 
he saw her smiling face, he put out his 
hand : 


TEMPTATIONS IN PROSPERITY. 243 

‘‘So our Sunshine has returned? Glad 
to see her back/’ laughingly drawing her 
toward him for a kiss. 

At the table Mary tried to apologize for 
her speech of the night before, but made rath- 
er bungling work of it. 

Uncle James came to her relief, turning it 
all into fun, and then said soberly, 

“ We will promise not to have wine on the 
table again during 3^our stay/’ 

“ Do not make such a rash promise, 
James ; that is folly.” 

“It is not rash, Lucy. I make it, and 
will keep it faithfully for Mr. Hastings 
remembered some things about Clarence. 
He imagined the cause of Mary’s antipa- 
thy to wine. 

In a quiet talk with Aunt Lucy after 
breakfast Mary explained : 

“ I could not drink that wine ; it would 
have been against my conscience and wrong 
for me.” 

“ I do not wish you to do anything that 
appears wrong to you, Mary, although I fear 
your conscience is a morbid tyrant. But if 
you do not wish to take wine, you need not 


244 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


make your refusal rude and unladylike; a 
lady must never forget herself, under any 
circumstances/’ 

I know it, Aunt Lucy ; I was rude, and 
for that I am sorry. I hope I have learned 
a lesson in graciousness.” 

She is a plucky little body,” Mr. Hast- 
ings afterward remarked to his wife in 
speaking of the occurrence. 

Indeed she is. Where right and wrong 
are concerned, she is like adamant. But it 
is a great pity she has been brought up with 
such peculiar and narrow ideas about many 
things.” 

Her peculiar ideas may do her good ser- 
vice in the end ; she certainly lost nothing 
in Mr. Garrett’s eyes, although you thought 
she treated him so rudely, for later he said 
to me, ‘That was the staunchest thing I 
ever knew a young lady to do.’ ” 

Many times that winter were Mary’s total - 
abstinence principles tested ; but her refusal 
to take the offered glass, if more ladylike, 
was none the less decided. 

One evening, at a little gathering of young 
people attended by Mary, she met Mr. Evans. 


TEMPTATIONS IN PROSPERITY. 245 

He put out his hand in an embarrassed 
manner : 

‘‘ I owe you an apology, Miss Sanborn.” 

Mary’s head gave a disdainful little toss ; 
tlieii a sudden recollection of Clarence’s fall 
and reclamation softened her heart. She 
took the proffered hand, accepting the 
apology in a true Christian spirit. In the 
course of the evening she found an opportu- 
nity in a kindly way to preach to this young 
man a strong little temperance sermon which 
proved to be a seed that lived and grew. 

The busy, happy days passed rapidly to 
Mary Sanborn. Lessons to be learned, 
practicing to be done, so many books to be 
read, so much in the great city to be seen 
and enjoyed, — the hours were all too short 
for all she wanted to accomplish, and there 
was little time for day-dreaming. Mrs. 
Hastings took good care that the bright, 
ambitious girl should be out every day for 
air and exercise, either enjoying a ride or 
taking a walk. The streets, so gay and 
bright with their surging multitudes of 
human beings, afforded continual entertain- 


246 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


merit to the country-girl, although the sad 
sights she often saw almost broke her heart. 

Mrs. Hastings often took Mary to the 
picture-galleries for an hour of pure enjoy- 
ment, and as she became familiar with the 
city she often found her way to them alone. 
Of the pictures she never tired. Sometimes 
Uncle James took her to lectures or to 
concerts, but, as Aunt Lucy shrank from 
going to these entertainments, the evenings 
were oftener spent at home. Once he pro- 
posed taking Mary to the theatre, but the 
horrified look on her face, with her decided 
“ No, I do not wish to go,’’ drew from her 
uncle the laughing response, “ Well, little 
Puritan, this is your last invitation.” 

The quiet evenings at home, when there 
was no company to interrupt, were Mary’s 
delight. Then Mrs. Hastings would forget 
her own sorrows in describing scenes in 
foreign lands, painting them so vividly, so 
accurately, that Mary saw them as though 
with her own eyes. Mrs. Hastings was 
rarely gifted in powers of description, and 
Mary was an attentive, enthusiastic listener. 
With the aid of engravings and photographs, 


TEMPTATIONS IN PROSPERITY. 247 

she obtained a more real and distinct idea of 
many places than is done by some who visit 
them in person. 

One evening Mr. Hastings said, 

‘‘ Mary, can you not persuade your aunt 
to play? She used to play finely, but she 
never touches the piano in these days.” 

By dint of much coaxing Mary succeeded 
in getting her aunt seated at the instrument. 
At first the tapering fingers wandered idly 
over the keys, then struck some chords ; in 
a few moments the very soul of music took 
possession of the player. Strains of melody 
floated through the room, now soft and sweet, 
then loud and glorious. Mrs. Hastings 
played on and on like one inspired, while 
Mr. Hastings and Mary sat entranced. At 
last she stopped from very weariness, dropping 
her head upon her hands. Her husband 
laid his hand gently upon her shoulder: 

‘‘ Oh, Lucy, what a pleasure you have 
been denying yourself and us ! After this 
you must play every evening.” 

This was the first of many little home- 
concerts that gave a rich treat to Mary. 

Mary did not feel satisfied about her 


248 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


Sabbaths, but slie tried to get from them all 
that she could. She had plenty of good 
reading — books and papers containing the 
Sunday-school lessons, sent by her mother and 
Kay. She learned, too, to get profit from the 
services of the church which she attended, 
although too formal to meet her simple 
spiritual taste. 

The afternoons she devoted to writing re- 
ligious notes or letters to the home-friends 
or to Kay or Alice. She soon found that 
with Alice, as with Elsie, she must not do 
too much preaching.’’ Many little white- 
winged messengers were sent out from the 
pleasant blue room, flying away many long 
miles to help other hearts in their heaven- 
ward journey. Occasionally she was betrayed 
by her quick fancy into dreaming the hours 
away, but she tried to keep her imagination 
fixed on religious subjects. Many hymns 
found their way into her diary, written 
on these Sunday afternoons. The evenings 
her uncle and aunt wished her to spend in 
the parlor. Often there was company to be 
entertained. When she heard the church- 
bells ringing she longed to go, but had no 


TEMPTATWNS IN PROSPERITY. 249 

escort. She tried to follow her mother’s 
advice : “ You must be patient, my child, 
and do the best you can under the cir- 
cumstances. Do not make yourself or your 
religion disagreeable to your kind friends.” 

But, with all her efforts, Mary often felt 
that she was not keeping the Lord’s day as 
he would like it kept. It was all so different 
from the way in which she had been ac- 
customed to keep the Sabbath at home. 
How sadly she missed the Sunday talks with 
her mother — those happy hours that she had 
loved from early childhood ! Her only com- 
fort lay in telling Jesus all about it, and in 
trusting him to show her a way out of her 
difficulties. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

IN THE GREAT CITY. 

NE Sunday morning, when Mrs. Hast- 



^ ings was not going out, Mary was asked 
by her uncle whether she would like to hear 
a noted divine whose church was near the 
one which they attended. Mary was re- 
joiced ; this was just what she was longing 
for. She had been in the city two months, 
but had not heard one of its great preach- 


ers. 


What a wonderful sermon was that to 
which Mary listened that morning ! The 
subject was ‘‘ Consecration the text, I 
am thine; save me/’ As the speaker elo- 
quently and forcibly unfolded all that was 
implied in being the Lord’s — what holy liv- 
ing, cheerful yielding to God’s will, what 
devotion of soul and body, what glad con- 
secration of all that we have and are to this 


250 


IN THE GEE AT CITY. 


251 


beloved King of our hearts — Mary feared 
that she could not be one of the King^s 
daughters. The standard was so high, so 
much beyond her own conception. By 
many illustrations and with intense earnest- 
ness the preacher carried his audience with 
him to those glorious heights which it is 
possible for those to attain who have con- 
secrated themselves wholly to the Lord. 
And how joyful tliis giving of ourselves, 
one and all, ought to be! how willing and 
free ! Was there anything we possessed too 
costly to be devoted to our Bedeeraer? 

As Mary eagerly listened to the words of 
the preacher she was conscious of a sense 
of discouragement creeping into her heart. 
What had she ever done for her Lord? 

Then the preacher pictured God’s con- 
descension. The humblest effort he would 
accept if made in his name ; the little self- 
denial for his sake; oftentimes the desire 
of the heart for the deed of the hand. 
From the last part of the text he drew 
sweet lessons of strength and comfort : 

Save me ” — not only eternally, but now, 
day by day, in the conflicts with sin and 


252 


SUNSHINE MAEY. 


temptation, in sorrow and trials, in weakness 
and fears, in every deed attempted for God’s 
glory. His almiglitiness will save us hour 
by hour if we will only rest on him, mak- 
ing our lives all sunshine. 

With this Mary’s courage and hope re- 
turned ; gladly her heart responded : ‘‘Lord, 
I am thine ; save me !” 

Before Mary dreamed that it was time for 
the sermon to finish, it was ended and the 
Bible closed. A beautiful hymn was sung, 
a short earnest prayer offered ; a few mo- 
ments of hushed silence followed, and 
quietly the great throng moved out of the 
church. 

Mary moved with the rest, but like one 
in a maze, so completely was she filled with 
the truths she had heard. Never before 
had she listened to such a sermon, so power- 
ful, so heart-searching. There had been no 
opportunity for wandering thoughts ; she 
‘ could not describe the building when ques- 
tioned by her aunt; even the looks, appear- 
ance and manner of the messenger from 
God had passed unnoticed ; but the living 
truth had burned into her heart, leaving an 


IN THE GREAT CITY. 


253 


impression that would tell on all her future 
life, reaching out into eternity. The Spirit 
of God had spoken to Mary through the lips 
of his messenger. 

Mary could give her aunt a good synopsis 
of the sermon, repeating many passages word 
for word. Mrs. Hastings listened attentively 
to her interesting account, only remarking. 
You seem to have made good use of 
your power of attention this morning.’’ 

When Mr. Hastings and Mary were com- 
ing out of the church that morning, they 
met her acquaintance Grace Etting. 

Why, Miss Sanborn ! how glad I am to 
see you here !” was Grace’s greeting. 
“ This is my church-home ; do come with 
me into the Sunday-school.” 

Mary looked appealingly at her uncle, 
who answered her mute request: 

‘‘ Go, Mary, if you like.” 

So Mary went with Grace into the young- 
ladies’ Bible class, which was taught by a 
gifted woman. What a treat it was to poor 
Mary, hungry as she was for religious in- 
struction and help! This true Christian 


254 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


lady tried to deepen the impression of the 
sermon of the morning, as much as possible 
connecting it with the lesson of the day. 
Many things which she said were a help 
and a comfort to Mary. 

This was the begining of good things for 
Mary. Of all the young people whom she 
had met in the city, Grace Etting, although 
older than herself, was her favorite. For 
Mary there was from the first a charm about 
her. Lately she had found out that one 
secret of that charm was the fact that Grace 
was an earnest Christian. This was a strong 
cord, drawing and linking Mary to Grace. 

The Ettings and Mary’s uncle and aunt 
lived on the same street. In the words 
of Mrs. Hastings, they were a “ fine old 
family.” 

Mrs. Hastings liked Grace. ‘‘She is a 
lovely girl ; quite intellectual — indeed, rath- 
er superior to most girls of her own age,” was 
her comment to Mary. She reserved for 
her husband’s ear the remark, “The only 
thing I do not like about Grace is the pious 
craze that has taken possession of her of late. 
With her mission circles, schools and prayer- 


IN THE GREAT CITY. 


255 


meetings, she would soon turn poor Mary^s 
head; you would shortly have to be following 
your earnest little niece into the worst parts 
of the city, where she would be climbing 
rickety stairs to read the Bible to some 
forlorn creature.’’ 

“ Do prevent such a state of things if 
possible,” laughed Mr. Hastings. 

Mrs. Hastings did not make any effort to 
throw the two girls together. Little did she 
imagine the good accomplished by the Etting 
family, with their talents, wealth and social 
position all consecrated to the service of the 
heavenly King. ‘‘For God and others” was 
the watchword in that household. Mrs. Hast- 
ings appreciated their culture and refinement, 
but in her eyes their devoted ness was only 
fanaticism. 

That Sabbath, as Grace and Mary walked 
home from church together, talking over the 
sermon, they found that they were kindred 
spirits. From that day there sprang up 
between them a true friendship. Mary had 
now found one to whom she could go with her 
perplexities. After this she went with Grace 
to church when Mr. and Mrs. Hastings did 


256 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


not feel like going out. Indeed, when Aunt 
Lucy stayed at home, Uncle James was 
always ready to go to Dr. Haven’s church. 
He had been almost as much interested in 
that first sermon as Mary herself. 

Did you not like it ?” Mary had asked 
her uncle that evening. 

‘‘ Yes, very much. Only it is impossible 
for human beings to live up to any such 
standard as that.” 

“ Not in their own strength, uncle, but by 
divine grace.” 

I fear it would take an endless amount 
of grace to transform some men into such 
temples of the living God.” 

Occasionally, to Mary’s great delight, 
Grace and her father would call for her to 
attend the evening service with tliem, and 
Mary found her way to the Sunday-school 
almost every Sabbath, even if she had to be 
a little late sometimes, going, as she often did, 
from the other churcli. The Ettings were 
too wise, and understood Mrs. Hastings too 
well, to urge Mary into anything which 
might arouse her aunt’s opposition. But 
Mary was often with them. The father and 


IN THE GREAT CITY. 


257 


mother welcomed her to their home as if she 
were a daughter. 


The holidays were now near; the stores 
were bright and beautiful with their display 
of Christmas goods. Mary had found time to 
paint a pretty plaque for her aunt and to make 
a gift for her uncle, but in spite of her efforts 
she had not succeeded in doing much for the 
dear ones at home. A few little things 
wdiich she had made were safely laid away, 
but to her they looked very mean and not 
• worth the sending. As she passed along the 
streets looking into the store- windows with 
longing eyes she heartily wished she were 
rich. 

One morning, a few days before Christmas, 
Mr. Hastings laid some bank-notes by Mary’s 
plate as he was leaving the breakfast-room : 

“ There, Mary dear ! Spend that as you 
like — for yourself or for others.” 

The color rushed into Mary’s face, but she 
could only say, 

Oh, thank you. Uncle James !” 

When she reached her room and opened 
the roll of bills, Mary was sure her uncle 

17 


258 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


had made a mistake. Never before had she 
at one time possessed so much money. 

But Mrs. Hastings laughingly reassured 
her : 

Your uncle is a very exact man in bus- 
iness-matters ; he never makes such mis- 
takes.’’ 

How liberal was the amount ! How many 
pretty things would it buy for the precious 
absent ones ! Mary felt sure that not one 
cent of this sum should be spent upon her- 
self: the home-friends needed it so much 
more than she did. 

That very afternoon Aunt Lucy proposed 
going out with Mary to do her Christmas 
shopping, as there was no time to lose. As 
Mary was putting the money into her purse 
the thought came to her: ‘‘This is Christ- 
mas-money — Christ-money : is it right to 
spend it all in gifts to my friends?” She re- 
membered what Grace had told her of the 
needs of mission work among heathen wo- 
men and among the city poor. She took a 
five-dollar bill from her roll, saying to her- 
self, “ This shall be my special Christmas 
thank-offering to my Saviour.” It was the 


m THE GREAT CITY. 


259 


first five dollars she had ever had to devote 
to him. 

What an afternoon of delight was that ! 
How glad was Mary for Aunt Lucy’s good 
judgment and taste ! for in the crowded 
stores she found herself fairly bewildered 
by the many beautiful things she saw. But 
Aunt Lucy seemed to know by instinct just 
what was best and most appropriate for each 
one. Never did bank-bills go farther, Mary 
thought ; surely, never were they spent with 
more genuine satisfaction. The gas was 
burning on the streets and in the stores 
before the last purchase was made on that 
short December afternoon. Mary still had 
some money in her purse, and this she de- 
cided should be added to her charity fund. 

As they wended their way homeward a 
light snow was falling, settling like downy 
feathers upon all things, transforming and 
beautifying them. The joy in Mary’s heart 
shone out from her eyes, but Mrs. Hastings’s 
face was sad with the memory of happy 
Christmas days past and gone. 

‘‘ I wish that God’s peace might fall upon 
her heart as quietly and as gently as the 


260 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


snow is falling upon the earth,” thought 
Mary, pityingly looking up into her aunt’s 
pale face. 

They turned into their own pleasant street, 
silently walking along in the fading light; 
Mary was thinking of the pleasure the pretty 
things would give to the dear hearts at 
home. For her mother there were a dress 
of fine soft material and an exquisite white 
knit shawl. Mary could see how charming 
the dear mother would look when wearing 
them. Many times had she dreamed of the 
day when by teaching she would earn mon- 
ey with which to buy her mother just such 
becoming fabrics as these. Every one had 
been remembered. Cousin Sallie and Nel- 
lie were not forgotten ; while for Alice and 
E-ay she had lovely Christmas cards. Mary 
laughed to herself to think of Arthur’s de- 
light over the picture-books and the toys. 
Then she could feel that they were her own 
gifts. Several times that afternoon her aunt 
had asked, 

‘‘ What are you going to buy for Mary 
Sanborn ?” 

“Why, nothing, Aunt Lucy. You and 


IN THE GREAT CITY. 


261 


uncle have been so generous with me that I 
have no needs and no wants.” 

Mary thought she ought to tell her aunt 
of the five dollars she had left at home. 

Mrs. Hastings looked at her a little quiz- 
zically : it struck Aunt Lucy as a very un- 
natural thing for a young person to do ; but 
she only said, 

“ You are a strange girl, Mary. But you 
are to spend it as you please ; it is all your 
own.” 

The next day, with the assistance of Uncle 
James, the Christmas box was nicely packed. 
What fun it was ! It afforded a new pleas- 
ure to Mary, who had never known much 
of the joy of giving. Numberless loving 
thoughts and wishes went in with the pres- 
ents, and a few happy tears. Then Mary 
added a merry note, wishing the dwellers 
in the Horae Nest ” every Christmas bless- 
ing, and all was complete. Uncle James ad- 
dressed and forwarded the box, assuring Mary 
that it would be sure to reach its desti- 
nation in time to be a Christmas greeting. 
Mary’s glad heart went with it all the long 
journey ; over and over she pictured to her- 


262 


SUNSHINE MANY. 


self all the joy it would give, only wishing 
that she could be an unseen spectator at the 
opening. 

To Mrs. Hastings this gay holiday season 
— the first she had spent in her home since 
the death of her children — was a sad time. 
She feared it would be a gloomy occasion for 
Mary ; so when Grace Etting invited her to 
join their own family party on Christmas 
Eve, Aunt Lucy gladly consented to the 
arrangement. All that afternoon her pitiful 
face appealed to Mary’s heart. Even Uncle 
James’s usual cheerfulness had disappeared. 

« Why not stay home this evening and try 
to comfort them ?” a voice whispered in 
Mary’s ear. 

will come and help you dress,” said 
thoughtful Aunt Lucy as Mary started for 
her room. 

Mary made no reply, but hurried up 
stairs. On the bed lay her dress and the 
other things that she was planning to wear 
that evening. She could hardly keep back 
the tears of disappointment at the thought 
of giving up the party ; she liked the 
Ettiugs so much, and could imagine just how 


IN THE GREAT CITY, 


263 


pleasant a Christmas gathering at their home 
miglit be. ‘‘ Why is it always so hard for 
me to give up anything?” she wondered. 
She remembered Dr. Haven’s words : The 
smallest self-denial he will accept.” “This 
I can give him. I have so little to give at 
this glad time!” Then there flashed into 
her mind a realization of the desolateness 
of this home during these days of merry- 
making and family joy — this darkened home 
once made bright and joyous by the happy 
voices of son and daugliter. Seating her- 
self, she wrote a hasty note of apology to 
Grace and despatched it by a servant. 

When Aunt Lucy entered the room, she 
found Mary putting away her things : 

“ I am not going, aunty ; I mean to stay 
at home and try to make the evening 
pleasant for you and uncle.” 

Mrs. Hastings protested, but Mary was 
decided : 

“ I have sent my regrets ; now let us 
spend as happy an evening together as we 
possibly can.” 

A tender look came into Mrs. Hastings’s 
eyes. Putting her arm affectionately around 


264 


SUNSHINE 31 A BY. 


Mary as they descended the stairs together, 
she whispered, 

My dear child, God will bless you for 
this.’’ 

Did not that repay Mary for her self- 
denial ? 

A happy evening indeed it proved to be, 
as all agreed when they separated for the 
night. 

The next morning Mary wrote these lines 
in her journal : 

“Gifts for tlie King of heaven ! 

What shall the offering be? 

No gift so small, 

Thou Lord of all, 

But I may bring to thee. 

“ Gifts for the King of heaven ! 

What shall the offering be ? 

This Christmas morn, 

When Christ was born, 

I give myself to thee.” 

Just as Mary was leaving her room she 
espied on her bureau a little package ad- 
dressed to herself. She opened it, and 
found a handsome case containing a gold 
watch and chain. On a card Uncle James 
had written, ‘‘A Christmas gift for Sunshine 



Tlie Wonderful Chri.stmas Box 


Page 265 





t 






> 


* 




* 

. *^1 » . 





JN THE GREAT CITY. 


265 


Mary, with the grateful love of Aunt Lucy 
and Uncle James.’’ 

‘‘How could they have known just what 
I would like best?” she exclaimed, joyfully, 
her heart full to overflowing ; for to this 
systematic young lady a watch had long 
been a coveted possession. 

In the course of the day came little gifts 
from Clarence and the home-friends — inex- 
pensive, but to Mary just as sweet an assur- 
ance that she was not forgotten as costly 
presents could have been. 

A few days after Christmas there came a 
letter from Elsie : 

“ What kind of a spell did you cast over 
Santa Claus to induce him to bring such a 
wonderful box to our door on Christmas 
morning? He must be growing immensely 
rich, the jolly old fellow ! Never before did 
he deign to confer on the Sanborn family 
such gifts. 

“ We were at the breakfast- table when the 
box arrived. Clarence opened it at once, when, 
lo and behold ! out came numberless beauti- 
ful presents — something for each and every 
member of the family, even to a ribbon 


266 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


for the cat ; which last Arthur tied so tightly 
around Pussy’s neck that the poor creature 
was nearly strangled. Arthur just danced, 
he was so wild with joy. Nellie came in 
from the kitchen and joined the dance. 
Mother did not dance, but sat and looked 
very sweet and happy ; you know how she 
can look. Clarence exclaimed, ‘The dear 
good girl !’ As though there must be some 
girl in the case ! Even that old dragon 
Cousin Sallie was just radiant with delight, 
while your humble servant clasped her 
hands, rolled up her eyes and declared she 
would never cease to thank you — Santa 
Claus, she meant — to the day of her death. 

“ In some way there was smuggled in 
from you a note which mother immediate- 
ly appropriated, reading it aloud in a very 
shaky voice for the benefit of the company. 
Then she held it lovingly in her hand as 
though it had been a bank-bill. Every one 
wondered how Santa Claus could know just 
what each one wanted. How did he happen 
to know that I was aching for those books, 
those nice gloves and other things? 

“ Mother sat with her fleecy shawl around 


IN THE GREAT CITY. 


267 


her shoulders, while Cousin Sallie went 
about the house wrapped in her blanket- 
shawl. Several times she was heard talk- 
ing to herself: ‘Wal, wal ! I do declare! 
It beats all to think it should come to me 
clear from the great city !’ And I do de- 
clare it beats all to think Santa Claus should 
send that crotchety old body such a nice 
present! She don’t deserve it. Of course 
the rest of us do — especially myself. 

Said Cousin Sallie grows more and more 
tormenting every day of her life, the can- 
tankerous old maid ! I am her favorite no 
longer ; she smiles no more at my funny 
speeches: instead, she continually hurls ‘sis- 
ter Mary ’ at my devoted head. To please 
her is impossible. I do not like to see that 
terribly grieved look on mother’s face ; so 
before her I try to be civil to this ancient 
cousin of ours, but I often feel like catching 
hold of that knot of hair on the back of her 
head and pulling it out by the roots. All 
I dare to do, however, is to shake my fist 
at her behind her back. Not long ago I 
gave her a hint that it was time for her to 
depart, but mother took a bad cold and Her 


268 


SUNSHINE 31 ARY. 


Ladyship informed me: ‘I shall not leave 
this house until your mother is as sound as 
a nut.’ So Cousin Sallie is a fixture for 
the rest of the season, I fear. 

“ Tell Santa Claus that the piles of hap- 
piness he gave this household can’t be 
weighed nor measured. As for yourself, 
all send love, hugs and kisses innumer- 
able.” 

In a postscript were added these words : 

“ Do not think me the wickedest girl liv- 
ing because I feel so hateful toward Cousin 
Sallie — for, Mary, I am trying to do right — 
but she vexes me so that I get completely 
discouraged.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


CLOUDS AND LIGHT. 

O NE morning, not long after Christmas, 
Mrs. Hastings was not down to break- 
fast. 

“ Your aunt is not well ; I fear she will 
not be up to-day. You must spend all the 
time you can with her, Mary,’’ said Uncle 
James as he went to his business. 

Mary thought of all she was planning to 
do that day, but managed to say cheerfully, 
‘‘I certainly will, Uncle James.” 

Mary stopped at her aunt’s door as she 
went up stairs: 

I will come soon and sit with you. Aunt 
Lucy.” 

‘‘Do, please, and bring something quieting 
to read. I am so restless !” 

Mary had some studying and writing 
which she wanted to do, “ then I will go to 
aunty.” She was very busy for a time ; 

269 


270 


SUNSHINE ^fAnY. 


then, when about through with her work, 
her imagination started off on a little tour 
of its own. For an hour she sat there 
building one of her filmy castles, utterly 
forgetful of everything about her. When 
she suddenly awoke from her dream, she 
went into her aunt’s room : 

‘‘ Did you think I was never coming?” 

Mrs. Hastings’s face was flushed, and she 
was nervous and excited : 

‘‘ I have been waiting for you this long 
time. Did you bring anything with you to 
read ?” 

Oh, Aunt Lucy, I forgot it and then 
she honestly confessed how she had been 
spending tlie last hour. 

‘‘ You must not allow this propensity of 
yours to make you selfish and forgetful of 
other people’s comfort,” said her aunt, a little 
sternly. 

It was the first decided rebuke Mrs. Hast- 
ings had ever given her niece, and Mary felt 
it keenly. Her own conscience was whisper- 
ing, You have done wrong ; you have 
broken your birthday resolutions.” 

Then Mrs. Hastings spoke more gently : 


CLOUDS AND LIGHT. 


271 


‘‘ Mary, God has bestowed on you a 
beautiful gift — that of imagination ; but you 
must be watchful how you use or misuse it.” 

‘‘And prayerful,” thought Mary. “What 
shall I read Aunt Lucy?” she asked, aloud. 

“ You may bring your Bible ; perhaps 
that can comfort me.” 

Mary was astonished, but she obeyed. 
Opening the book at the fourteenth chap- 
ter of John, she very gently and express- 
ively read it through. 

Mrs. Hastings drank in every word : 

“ ‘Peace’! ‘ peace ’ I That is what I want. 
I must have rest or I shall lose my reason.” 
Then she began talking of her children, for 
the first time telling Mary of the babe she 
had lost in the first years of her married 
life : “ Oh how I idolized the angel that had 
come to bless our home I But it sickened 
and died. There was no cradle to be rocked, 
no baby-laughter in the house. How could 
I lay its tiny waxen form alone in the dark 
grave? Who would care for my little baby? 
I wanted to die, but I had to live on ; and the 
other precious ones came to lighten the dark- 
^ness, twining themselves so closely about my 


272 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


heart that I lived in them. Then they too 
were taken ; there was no mercy for us. 
What had we done that we must be so 
tortured ?” and Mrs. Hastings burst into 
one of those strains of bitterness and re- 
bellion that always appalled Mary. 

‘‘Aunt Lucy,” Mary said, at length, “ I 
wish you could talk with Dr. Haven ; I 
believe he could help you. He preached 
such a tender sermon to the sorrowing last 
Sunday.” 

“ What did he say ? Tell me,” she 
exclaimed, eagerly. 

Mary repeated all that she could remember 
of the words of one who himself had known 
great grief, and so had a fitting message for 
the bruised in heart. 

The recital seemed to quiet Mrs. Hastings: 

“ He understands it all ; he must know by 
bitter experience.” 

For several weeks Aunt Lucy was confined 
to her room with a slow nervous fever. For 
a few days she was dangerously ill, but her 
naturally good constitution soon rallied. 

Mary was much with her aunt. “ She 
quiets me; her touch is soothing,” Mrs. Hast- 


CLOUDS AND LIGHT. 


273 


ings said. The nurse was always glad to 
have Mary come in with her deft, gentle 
ways. Almost every day she read to her 
aunt, often from the Bible, the most comfort- 
ing passages she could find. As she searched 
for them she was astonished to find what a 
mine of wealth for the sorrowing heart is 
in the Bible. Sometimes she would read 
passages from her own religious books — 
beautiful thoughts that she hoped might 
cheer and guide her aunt. Once she 
ventured to read to Aunt Lucy, who grew 
increasingly dear to her during these weeks, 
some of her own little poems — something 
she had never done before to any one. Mrs. 
Hastings showed so much interest and threw 
out so many kindly hints and criticisms that 
Mary often repeated the experiment. Mrs. 
Hastings had so correct a taste and was so 
well educated that her suggestions were of 
great help to Mary. 

Mary came into her aunt’s room one 
afternoon bright and rosy from a brisk walk 
in the invigorating wintry air, bringing a 
bunch of fragrant English violets for the 
invalid. Mrs. Hastings was sitting up, being 
18 


274 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


much better that day. Mary thought she 
had never seen Aunt Lucy look so hand- 
some. She eagerly reached out her hand 
for the blossoms. 

Oh, Mary ! my pet flowers ! I love 
tliem better than all the pinks and roses. 
How beautiful and fragrant tliey are she 
exclaimed, with childish delight. 

am so glad you like them, aunty; the 
dear little violets are my favorites — the 
sweetest of all flowers, I think.’’ 

Mary chatted on of all she had seen in 
her walk that was cheery and pleasant. 

Mrs. Hastings suddenly interrupted her : 

Mary, do you think I)r. Haven would 
be willing to call here?” 

The abrupt question almost took away 
Mary’s breath, but she answered quietly : 

“ Why, yes, Aunt Lucy ; I am sure he 
would be very glad to come to see you.” 

“ I have thought so. much of that ser- 
mon you repeated to me. He must have 
known great sorrow himself; he certainly 
understands what it is to have a crushed 
heart. Possibly he could help me. I have 
carried this heavy burden so long ! Now^ 


CLOUDS AND LIGHT 27 o 

if it is possible to ‘ cast it on the Lord,’ as 
you say, I want to know the secret as to the 
way of doing it.” 

‘‘Dr. Haven can help yon. Aunt Lucy, I 
do believe ; I will tell Grace to request him 
to call.” 

“No, Mary; say nothing to Grace. You 
have met him : go to him yourself ; tell him 
-a troubled heart needs comforting.” 

That was the first of many calls that Dr. 
Haven made at the Hastings mansion. Mrs. 
Hastings always made him welcome, and 
often spoke of him in the highest terms ; 
but her lips were sealed on the great subject 
that lay so near to Mary’s heart. Daily the 
loving girl prayed that God would manifest 
himself to this dear aunt and give her his 
peace. 

Mrs. Hastings ceased talking to Mary of 
her great sorrow. She appeared thoughtful, 
but troubled — certainly, not truly happy. 

Once Mary ventured to ask, 

“ Can Dr. Haven give you any light. 
Aunt Lucy?” 

“ He has brought me sweet comfort many 
times, Mary, but he also fearfully discour- 


276 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


ages me. How can I learn to say, ‘ Thy will 
be done ’ T’ 

After this Mary would not intrude ques- 
tions upon her aunt ; she could only pray 
and leave this dear one in God’s hands. 

While her aunt was sick Mary spent her 
evenings mostly with her uncle, as that was 
the time when the doctor wanted Mrs. Hast- 
ings kept quiet. Often they went out to- 
gether, during the ‘‘ week of prayer ” going 
to many of the meetings. Generally the 
Ettings called for them. Uncle James 
knew that Mary was very anxious to go, 
but that she would not leave him alone ; so 
he consented to join the party. The meet- 
ings were exceedingly interesting. 

During their quiet walks home Mary often 
found herself talking as freely of religious 
things as she did when in the country. To 
her delight, Uncle James was again interest- 
ed and inclined to join in the conversation. 
Mary often came out of the church so full 
of joy — the joy which the presence of the 
Holy Spirit brings — that she could not help 
pouring out this “oil of gladness.” 

One evening Uncle James said to her. 


CLOUDS AND LIGHT. 


277 


‘‘How I wish your poor aunt had the 
blessed hope of the Christian! Nothing 
else can ever make her a happy woman.’’ 

They were just going up the steps of their 
home. As Mary turned and looked down 
at him, Mr. Hastings saw that her eyes were 
full of tears : 

“ Oh, uncle, that is my prayer every day. 
I wish you both had this blessed hope.” 

“ I wish we had, dear child ; this would 
then be a happier and a better home.” 

The short winter days had lengthened ; a 
few bright moments added on morning and 
evening had gradually lessened the dark- 
ness. So, often, comes the dawn to human 
hearts — little by little, until the true light 
shineth in full glory. 

The sun had risen higher and higher in 
the heavens, shining with new power every 
day, until ice and cold had fled away before 
his warm glances; the boisterous winds of 
March had sunk to a lullaby. Winter had 
gone; spring was in the land. 

The time of Mary Sanborn’s stay in the 
city was coming to an end. The first har- 


278 


SUNSHINPJ MARY. 


biligers of the resurrection set her heart in 
a flutter ; she longed to be off with the birds 
to her own nest in the country. Delightful 
the weeks and months had been, especially 
the latter part of the time. She had been 
out a great deal with Grace, Mrs. Hastings 
making no opposition, growing more and 
more attached to her friend. It would be 
hard to leave all the pleasant things about 
her in the city, the kind friends, and es* 
pecially the loved uncle and aunt; but some 
days her heart was turning homeward with 
the feeling that she could not stay away an- 
other moment, while the home-letters were 
very urgent : ‘‘ Come ! come !” 

‘‘Yes, yes! I must be flitting,’’ thought 
Mary ; but when she spoke of going, her 
uncle and aunt looked so sober that the 
leaving- time was deferred. 

Every pleasant day Mary took a long ride 
with her aunt. Mrs. Hastings looked very 
pale and sad and was very quiet, excepting 
as Mary drew her out on some favorite 
theme, when she would forget herself and 
talk in her old animated, entertaining way. 
She had grown strangely reticent about her 


CLOUDS AND LIGHT. 


279 


own grief. Mary would have been glad to 
hear her even bursting out into one of her 
bitter strains, thinking it might relieve her 
burdened heart. Once she said wearily, 
Oh, Mary, when will the morning 
come ?” 

Mary felt greatly discouraged. If Dr. 
Haven could not help her aunt, nobody 
could. Then would come the comfortinir 
thought, Jesus can. Some day she will 
find him and be at peace.” 

One of these bright spring days Grace 
came bursting into Mary’s room : 

‘‘ Oh, Mary, do you not want to go with 
me to our ladies’ missionary meeting? It is 
our annual gathering. Some returned mis- 
sionary-ladies are to be there, and some 
young ladies who are soon going to new 
fields ; there will be some fine addresses. 
Come ! put away your books and start.” 

Grace was an enthusiast in mission work, 
an active member of the mission circle 
connected with their church. When Mary 
came to the city, she knew little of the 
efforts women in this land are making for 
their sisters that sit in darkness, but she 


280 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


soon caught the glow from Grace’s warm 
heart, and her intelligent interest in the 
subject steadily increased. She was very 
busy that morning, but it did not take 
much urging to induce her to accept Grace’s 
pressing invitation. Soon the two girls were 
on their way with light hearts and happy 
faces. 

A woman’s sweet voice was pleading 
earnestly in prayer as they entered the room 
and quietly took their seats. Then followed 
singing and addresses from missionary-ladies 
— devoted women who had toiled, suffered 
and rejoiced in the glorious work of saving 
benighted souls. The young ladies soon to 
leave their native land were introduced. 
Their trembling words of farewell touched 
Mary deeply. She looked at them with 
wondering admiration. How could they 
leave their homes and friends ? How noble 
and grand it was ! 

But the crowning address of all came last. 
A lady dressed in deep mourning arose and 
commenced speaking in tones which were low 
and sweet, but very clear and distinct. Some- 
thing in her look and manner reminded Mary 


CLOUDS AND LIGHT. 


281 


of Aunt Lucy, and so won her closest atten- 
tion from the first. Most graphically did 
she picture the sad condition of women in 
heathen lands, 

‘‘Come with me,’’ she said, “and let us 
see for ourselves.” 

Mary saw and felt it all as in imagina- 
tion she went with the missionary into the 
homes of darkness and sorrow. How terrible 
is this bondage, physical, mental and spiritual! 
How hopeless are their lives for this world, 
how hopeless for the next ! Nothing before 
them but sin and misery ! Oh, the pitiful- 
ness of their state ! And yet these are our 
sisters, benighted and vile, but with hearts 
like our own to sufier or enjoy, souls that 
must live on through the endless ages of 
eternity. Then she told how the trans- 
forming power of the “ Christ-religion ” had 
developed in many of these degraded ones 
the lovely graces of true Christian woman- 
hood. She closed with an earnest appeal for 
more heralds to carry the glad news of free- 
dom and redemption to those bound in 
chains of superstition and evil : “ Who 

among my young friends will go? Who 


282 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


will consecrate the strength and the enthu- 
siasm of their early lives to this glorious 
work r 

As the earnest woman repeated the ques- 
tion, “ Who will go ?” Mary’s head dropped. 
It seemed like God’s voice calling to her. 
Ever since she had heard that first sermon 
of Dr. Haven she had been asking herself, 
“What can I do for Him who died for me?” 
All the faithful preaching of the past weeks 
to which she had listened had deepened the 
feeling. Now God was answering the ques- 
tion. “ This thou canst do for me,” sounded 
in her ear. She caught a glimpse of all the 
self-denial involved, yet before she had 
raised her head her heart had responded 
gladly, “ I will go.” 

After the meeting Grace stopped to speak 
to some of the ladies. While Mary stood 
waiting, the missionary who had made the 
closing address came up to her and gently 
touched her on the shoulder. The speaker 
had noticed Mary’s eager, interested face; 
now she asked softly, 

“Are you not one of those who will be 
willing to go at some future day ?” 


CLOUDS AND LIGHT. 


283 


Mary’s lip quivered, but her low, firm an- 
swer sent a bright glow over the lady’s face. 

“ God bless you, my dear girl, in this good 
purpose !” 

During the walk home Mary was silent 
and thoughtful; Grace had to do the talk- 
ing. At last Mary asked, 

‘^Are you going, Grace?” 

‘‘What? Going on a mission?” Then, 
laughingly, “I* could not possibly leave my 
missions here in the city — my poor people 
and my home mission. No, I do not think 
that call was for me.” 

“ I am sure it was for me,” thought Mary ; 
but she did not speak her tliought. 

That meeting sounded the keynote of 
Mary Sanborn’s life. That night she wrote 
in her journal : “ Some day, God willing, I 
will go and tell my heathen sisters of Jesus 
and his love. ” 

With this new resolve strong in her heart, 
Mary left her city abiding-place for her own 
dear home in the country. A decided letter 
from Mrs. Sanborn — “ Mary must come ; I 
cannot wait any longer ” — hastened her de- 
parture. 


284 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


“ Come into the library, Mary, for a little 
talk,’^ said Uncle James one evening. 

Mary’s trunk was all packed, ready for an 
early start the next morning. She had rea- 
son to remember that hour spent with kind 
Uncle James. She sat on a low seat, looking 
into his loving face, while he told her of his 
generous plans. These plans referred to her- 
self. He wanted her to have a thorough ed- 
ucation, with every advantage she could de- 
sire. He led her to speak of her wishes in 
the matter, the school she would prefer and 
the time she wanted to devote to study. He 
assured her of his fatherly interest and af- 
fection, and that he meant to provide for her 
as for a daughter. 

‘‘ Tell that independent mother of yours,” 
he said, ‘Hhat she need not look upon any- 
thing we do for you as a deed of charity, 
or even as one of kindness : we are only giv- 
ing ourselves the pleasure of lavishing freely 
upon one whom we love.” Then, taking her 
face tenderly between his hands, ‘‘Dear lit- 
tle Mary, we owe you a debt we can never 
repay for all you have been to us this 
winter.” 


CLOUDS AND LIGHT. 


285 


It. was liard parting from these devoted 
friends, but Mary hoped to see them again 
before many weeks, as it was agreed that 
they were to spend part of the summer at 
The Nest/^ 

Mrs. Hastings broke down completely 
when she bade Mary Good-bye.’’ 

“ My dear, dear child, how can I let you 
go ?” she cried, clasping Mary in her arms. 
‘‘ You have been like an angel in the house.” 
J ust as they separated a sweet light shone in 
the handsome eyes as she whispered, Mary, 
I liave found a resting-place at last : Gt is 
with the strong Son of God — immortal 
Love.’ ” 

Mr. Hastings went with Mary part of the 
journey and then had to leave her, as an 
engagement called him back to the city ; 
but she amused herself watching the pas- 
sengers, or the smoke of the engine as it 
transmuted itself into white, fleecy clouds, 
wreathing and curling into all kinds of 
strange fantastic shapes — “ like piles of 
snow or wool,” thought Mary, ‘‘ only more 
exquisitely airy and delicate.” Against 
the azure of the sky how lovely they were. 


286 


SUNSHINE iMAEY. 


chasing one another along as though tliey 
were alive ! Occasionally there came a black 
streak in the whiteness or a heavy dark bank, 
reminding Mary of the shadows that darken 
happy lives. But it was the blessed thought 
“I am going home’’ that made her heart 
leap for joy. The faces she loved, that she 
had not seen in nearly eight long months, 
looked out at her with loving smiles from 
the clouds which she was watching. 

Mary carried with her, from Uncle James 
to her mother, a letter containing these 
words : 

“ We return your daughter with most 
hearty thanks ; she is in good condition — fat, 
rosy and gay as a lark. We cannot tell you 
what a blessing she has been to us, but must 
leave you to imagine all the light and all the 
joy she has brought to our home.” 

As Mary sat looking out of the car win- 
dow her imagination was busy living over all 
the pleasures of the past winter or painting 
the future with glowing colors. Life seemed 
so full of joy, the world such a beautiful 
place ! Her heart was full of gratitude. 

‘‘Dear, blessed Uncle James!” she thought. 


CLOUDS AND LIGHT. 


287 


‘‘ He lias been casting a great deal of bread 
on the waters; I hope God will reward him 
by giving him the living Bread.’’ 

Mary Sanborn had never traveled any dis- 
tance alone before ; so she felt a little timid. 
As they crossed a high trestle-bridge and 
she looked down into the chasm beneath, 
there was a flutter of fear in her heart ; when 
they turned a short curve and she realized 
the dangerous height, an exclamation of ter- 
ror escaped her lips. 

. “Is you sick?” asked a childish voice from 
the seat in front. 

. ‘‘Why, no, little girl ; I am not sick,” an- 
swered Mary, looking into the blue eyes that 
were intently w'atching her. 

“ Is you ’fraid ?” 

“Well, yes, just a little,” laughed Mary. 

“I know a nice verse: ‘What time I’se 
’fraid, I trust in thee.’ You know who that 
is, don’t you?” 

“Yes, dear; it is the Lord. He takes care 
of us all the time; I ought not for a moment 
to forget it.” 

“ My mamma told me that verse ; she’s up 
in heaven now. I can’t And her. I looks 


288 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


up at the stars every night; they just say 
‘Twinkle, twinkle,’ but I can’t see mamma.” 

The young girl in the seat with the child 
put up her hand : 

“ Oh, don’t, pet ! Don’t talk any more.” 

But Chatterbox was not to be silenced in 
that way; she only changed the subject: 

“Us didn’t get throwed off the cars this 
time, did us?” putting her arms around her 
sister’s neck. Then, to Mary, “ I guess we 
•won’t again. God takes care of sister and 
me ; I’se never ’fraid,” with a very brave 
air. 

Then the sister turned to Mary to ex- 
plain : 

“ Millie and I were on the cars when they 
were thrown from the track.” 

The young girl’s face, that Mary now saw 
for the first time, was a very pale, sad, anx-. 
ious-looking one, although she seemed about 
Mary’s age. 

“Yes, we got throwed right out of our 
berth, but it never cracked one bone,” 
chimed in Millie ; “ God kept us all safe.” 

The sister laughed : 

“Yes, we went out of our berth, mattress 


CLOUDS AND LIGHT. 


289 


and all ; this little girl was tossed about like 
a ball, but she did not even waken.’’ 

This was the beginning of quite a con- 
versation between Mary and the sister, inter- 
spersed with explanations and remarks from 
Chatterbox that were very funny. Mary 
found that the two were orphans ; that their 
home had been in the far West, but, now 
that father and mother were both dead, 
they were coming East to live with an aunt. 
Mary ceased to wonder at the thin, sad face 
of the young girl, made more haggard-look- 
ing by her plain black dress. Everything 
about the attire of the two was neat, but very 
poor. 

As Mary asked questions, showing real 
interest and sympathy in look and manner, 
the young stranger opened her heart, reveal- 
ing more of the sorrow and misery of their 
lives, perhaps, than she intended. As Mary 
listened the sunshine suddenly darkened; her 
beautiful world, after all, was full of care and 
trouble, of heartaches and sorrows. The con- 
trast between her own happy lot and that of 
the lonely sisters — friendless and homeless — 
brought the tears to her eyes. 

19 


290 


SUNSHINE 3fAny. 


‘‘ We have no one left now but our aunt, 
and she is almost a stranger to us ; she may 
not make us welcome,’^ sounded very sad and 
pitiful to Mary, who was expecting so soon to 
hear words of affectionate greeting from lov- 
ing lips. But the simple faith of the little 
girl was like a beam of liglit in the dark- 
ness. “ God takes care of us what better 
care could any heart ask? 

When Mary opened her box of dainty 
luncheon, provided by Aunt Lucy’s thought- 
ful care — delicious sandwiches, sponge-cake, 
nuts and oranges — the little girl watched her 
with longing eyes. But when Mary offered 
to share her good things, at a word from her 
sister the child most decidedly declined. It 
was only after persistent urging that the little 
one could be prevailed upon to eat anything. 
After repeated assurances from Mary that she 
had more than she could possibly use, the 
older sister consented to accept the kind of- 
fer. Millie so eagerly devoured her share 
that Mary felt sure the sisters must be very 
hungry. 

When the little girl was well satisfied, she 
commenced talking again, and soon, in true 


CLOUDS AND LIGHT. 


291 


cilild-fasliioii, put Mary in possession of the 
truth : 

‘‘We didn’t have no breakfast.” 

“ Hush, Millie !” from the young girl. 

“ But we didn’t have no breakfast,” per- 
sisted the child ; “ our money was all gone.” 

At this the courage of the elder sister 
seemed completely to forsake her; ^she 
dropped her head and commenced crying 
bitterly. 

“ Poor brave little heart ! she has more 
than she can bear,” thought Mary. 

To Mary’s kindly questions the stranger 
admitted the truth of Millie’s statement. 
The last railroad ticket she had bought 
took all her money ; when they reached 
the station where they must leave the cars, 
they had still a long stage-ride, and no 
money. 

Mary comforted her with loving words, 
then, opening her pretty traveling-bag, took 
out one of the crisp bank-bills that Uncle 
James had given her at parting, and crowded 
it into the sister’s hand. The look of relief 
and gratitude that rewarded her Mary never 
forgot. 


292 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


In her interest in the strangers, Mary had 
not noticed that she was nearing home. Al- 
ready the train was slackening its speed ; 
she gathered up her belongings and bade 
her newly-found friends ‘‘ Good-bye,” taking 
their address and promising to write. Mil- 
lie clasped her about the neck with many 
kisses, then Mary hastened out, little dream- 
ing how much joy and sunshine she had 
given to two lonely hearts; but God knew. 


CHAPTEE XV. 

AT HOME AGAIN. 

T he first face Mary saw as she stepped 
from the cars was that of her brother 
Clarence, who stood on the platform hold- 
ing Arthur by the hand. In a few moments 
Mary was seated in the easy carriage — Uncle 
James’s gift — with her brothers, very glad 
and happy, asking and answering all man- 
ner of questions, then breaking into raptures 
over “the country — the beautiful country,” 
which had just put on its spring dress. 

Arthur chatted on as fast as his little 
tongue could run, telling all the family 
news : 

“This is my pony. Dobbin, I call him. 
He knows me; turns his head around and 
winks at me when I speak to him. I give 
him hay and oats.” 

Clarence let Arthur rattle on, but was very 
quiet himself, showing his joy only in a few 

293 


294 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


earnest words. Mary thought him much 
changed. He was the same handsome 
brother, but much more manly. 

It was not until the other members of the 
family had retired that night and the brother 
and the sister were alone together that Clar- 
ence appeared inclined to do much talking. 
Then he told Mary of his struggles and 
temptations, his battles and victories — how 
God had strengthened him in his weakness 
and delivered him when sorely tried : 

If I failed, it was because I forgot to fol- 
low your advice to ask the Lord for help.” 

How Mary rejoiced over her dear brother! 

That was a happy reunion for the Sanborn 
family — a faint type of the joy in the 
heavenly family when a loved one is wel- 
comed home. Mary’s delight was un- 
bounded ; she rushed around the house with 
the eagerness of a child, examining every 
part, noticing every change or improvement. 
Every familiar object was like an old friend 
that she was glad to meet. Every little while 
she would have to stop to put her arms around 
her mother’s neck : 


AT HOME AGAIN. 


295 


Oh, you dear, blessed little mother ! I 
am so glad to be back to you ! Can I ever 
leave you again? It seems like years instead 
of months that I have been gone.’’ 

The happy tears in her mother’s eyes told 
of her joy. 

Arm in arm Mary and Elsie started on a 
tour of inspection, for Mary must see every- 
thing about the place before the darkness 
came. Her own little sanctum looked par- 
ticularly cozy and inviting — not so beautiful 
as the ‘‘ blue room ” she had left in the city,, 
but dearer to her heart. The garden, the 
orchard, the trees she had so often climbed, 
spending hours in the branches, must all 
have a greeting. Then she must go with 
Arthur to the barn to see Dobbin’s home. 

Every one looked so changed to Mary ! 
Elsie and Arthur had grown. Elsie espe- 
cially w^as altered. 

‘‘So much more ladylike and womanly,” 
commented Mary to herself. 

The wrinkles were smoothed out of the 
dear mother’s face ; the careworn, anxious 
expression was all gone. 

“She looks ten years younger,” Mary 

19 


296 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


declared. “The only one who looks just 
like herself is Cousin Sal lie.’’ 

A merry laugh came from Elsie at this 
speech : 

“ Of course she looks the same Cousin 
Sallie, and she always will be Cousin Sallie 
to the end of the chapter.” 

Mary concluded that Elsie was right when 
Cousin Sallie came out with one of her char- 
acteristic speeches : 

“ Wal, wal ! I do declare, Mary Sanborn ! 
What fine clothes you wear! Gold watch 
and chain! I don’t believe in it; it’s pam- 
pering the fiesh. I hope Satan hasn’t filled 
your heart chuck full of vanity.” 

Another laugh came from Elsie : 

“ There, now ! I told you so ! Your 
clothes are handsome, though, Mary; they 
fit you perfectly. Something has altered 
you too, as well as the rest of us; perhaps 
it is the fine feathers. You ought to hold 
up a glass, so that you could see yourself 
at full length. I do believe you have 
grown two inches taller. Then you have 
taken some of Aunt Lucy’s dainty man- 
ners.” 


AT HOME AGAIN. 


297 


“I hope you do not think I arn aping 
her?” laughed Mary. 

There was in Mary Sanborn a change 
that Elsie did not see, but one which could 
not be hidden from the mother’s keen in- 
sight. The young girl had returned to her 
country home as simple-hearted, sincere and 
true as when she left it. This Mrs. San- 
born read at a glance. Slie was also quick 
to perceive that there were a new earnestness 
and a new devotion in her daughter; the love 
of Jesus had grown warmer, the Holy Spirit 
w'as abiding in the young heart, developing 
a consistent Christian character. 

“ Thank God !” exclaimed the mother 
as she folded Mary to her heart that even- 
ing ; “ he has kept you from every peril.” 

‘•And you are altered more than all the 
rest,” said Mary as she met Ray Thatcher’s 
happy face. “Strange that a few short 
months should work such changes in you 
all. What has become of the gloom and 
the sadness? Who has spirited them away? 
Tell me the whole story, Ray ; for I am sure 
there is one to be told.” 


298 


SUNSHiyE 3JARY. 


You may well ask, Mary, for I feel that 
I have just begun to live — surely, just begun 
to live the blessed life of the Christian. You 
see, a cousin of mother’s came to make us 
a visit. She was the loveliest Christian I 
ever met. Her religion was all gladness. She 
had lived through great sorrows and through 
trouble of every kind, yet she was the hap- 
piest woman imaginable. She soon saw that 
there was something wrong in me — that I 
was in the dark, living a life of bondage 
instead of one of joyous liberty. She saw, 
too, that I did not feel as I should toward 
mother — that between us there was a mis- 
understanding that clouded our home. She 
soon won my confidence and immediately 
set herself to help me. The good she did 
me I never can express in words. I have 
just gone on rejoicing ever since that time. 
I know I am just as great a sinner as ^ever, 
but I do not carry the daily burden myself. 
I cast it on Jesus ; I rest in him as my Sa- 
viour and trust him as my Helper. This is 
my happy secret. And, Mary, I want to 
take back all the disagreeable things I ever 
said about mother. I have learned to love 


AT HOME AGAIN. 


299 


her dearly. I am so sorry for all those hate- 
ful speeches ! I can see now how greatly I 
was at fault. Now that mother and I un- 
derstand each other, everything at home is 
smooth and pleasant.” 

‘‘ I am glad — oh, so glad ! I see you have 
dropped the ‘ Mrs. Thatcher.’ It always 
troubled me to hear you use it.” 

‘‘ Yes ; that was wicked and cruel in me. 
You ought to have seen the pleased look on 
mother’s face the first time I called her by 
that sweet name. It paid me for the effort. 
And, Mary, I must tell you how much good 
your cheery, faithful letters did me.” 

Again were the three friends — Ray, Alice 
and Mary — together as of old, as happy as 
ever, notwithstanding the barrier that Alice 
imagined had arisen between herself and 
Mary. Circumstances in Mr. Perry’s busi- 
ness had made him only too glad to have 
Alice defer entering school for a year. And 
now all obstacles were removed, and it was 
decided that the three girls should together 
enter the seminary the coming autumn. All 
that long bright summer the three studied and 
read, making all necessary preparations. 


300 


SUNSHINE MARY. 


Between Bay and Mary there was a new 
tie of love and sympathy, but not even to 
Bay did Mary speak of the great puirpose 
of her life. She longed to talk it over with 
her mother, but shrank from telling her. just 
then, when she was so happy over her return. 

“ Possibly the way will never open so that 
I can go. If it does, then I can tell her all, 
and God will give her strength to bear the 
parting,” was Mary’s wise conclusion. But 
she thought and prayed over it daily, with 
fresh determination to devote herself to this 
great work for darkened souls. 

One evening, when Eugene Thatcher was 
walking home with her from a little gather- 
ing at his father’s, almost involuntarily these 
words slipped from her : 

“ Some day I want to go to carry to the 
heathen the glad news that Jesus Christ 
came to save sinners.” 

“ Oh, Mary, is that your wish ? That is 
the work for God and for men to which 
I have consecrated my life.” 


THE END. 


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